


Kill the Rabbit

by Mountain97



Category: One Piece
Genre: Family, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, LOTS of violence, mild AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 53
Words: 291,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountain97/pseuds/Mountain97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace, one of the newest members of 2nd division, has been a Whitebeard Pirate for about a year. For him, having a place to call home where people love him is a semi-new experience and he savors every minute of it. But one of Whitebeard's allies knows Ace, and when they meet Ace is…less than friendly. But why?</p>
<p>(NO PAIRINGS, backstory changes, Haki speculation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 (Mildly AU in that I’ve messed with Ace’s back-story like WUT. I’ve also messed with what Haki can do. I’ve made it do a lot of things that it doesn’t do in the manga or anime, but I think are cool. Oh, and Ace isn’t division commander yet, just another member of 2nd division.)

* * *

Ace shouldered the small bag holding the possessions he brought with him on missions and turned to look at the fast-approaching ship off the bow of his small flame-powered speedboat. There it was, the Moby Dick, his home of a little over a year now. Ace raised his arm in a wave to anyone who might currently be on watch. He smirked when he saw someone return the wave from the aft deck and promptly run towards Oyaji’s room. He’d probably still be asleep at this hour, but he usually liked to be informed when his sons returned from longer-term assignments. Ace’s smile widened and he continued his progress towards the ship.

* * *

Less than two hours later, Ace found himself seated comfortably at one of the galley’s tables, drinking a cup of tea and digging in to a book he had picked up along his trip. There were a couple of people sitting at the table. Marco and Thatch were both present, as well as several members of second division. They were discussing recent events aboard the Moby Dick. Ace was fairly sure it was for his benefit, and was half listening, as he hadn’t been on the ship for the last three weeks and wanted to be up-to-date on the goings-on of his home.

“—and right now there’s a marine on the ship! A _marine_! Apparently we bribe him to keep us updated on the layout of various high-level bases even the guys from twelfth division can’t get into.” One of the younger members was speaking energetically, gesticulating wildly to try to get the excitement of the announcement across. Ace looked up at this, curiosity written on his face.

“Really? What’s the guy’s name? I didn’t know we had any allies in the government.” Ace marked his page in the book, setting it down to engage himself more fully in the conversation. The younger pirate looked shocked to have actually caught his attention and stared at Ace for a moment with wide eyes. Ace raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, right. I haven’t met him personally, but I think I heard Thatch say his name was Edward Hare. He’s apparently a fairly high-ranking marine-“

Ace had stopped listening. He sat, completely frozen. He didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, was mildly surprised his heart was still beating. Edward Hare. The name echoed in his head, becoming an all-encompassing din. Once the shock began to wear off, something else flooded up to take its place. Anger. Hate. Unstoppable, uncontrollable rage. Fury unlike anything Ace had ever felt before. How dare that man be here? How dare he be _alive_? Ace made sure none of these thoughts or emotions showed on his face or were betrayed by his voice, and seemingly nonchalantly asked, “And where might he be now? I’d _very_ much like to meet him.” He said it all with a small, seemingly kindly smile painted on his face. His eyes showed no such compassion. Their usual shade of dark hazel-grey had turned to something harder. Darker. More like steel. Cold as ice, unforgiving, and as sharp as the sea-stone imbued knife on his belt. Thatch, at least, noticed, and was currently regarding Ace warily. Marco glanced at Thatch, then back at Ace. Both remained silent for the time being, but were watching Ace closely.

“Hmm? Oh, last I heard, he was below-decks, in the storeroom near the infirmary. He’s apparently some kind of surgeon and—hey where are you going?”

Ace had stood up suddenly and was now making his way across the galley, towards the hallway leading to the sickbay. He was walking fast, even by his standards. Marco and Thatch both stood up to follow him, sensing something bad brewing. Ace noticed them following him, but frankly, didn’t give a shit. He was beyond the point of caring. His jaw was set, and his steps filled with purpose as he stalked down the hallway.

Ace didn’t hesitate for a second before bursting through the door. It slammed back against the wall loudly, but Ace’s attention was focused solely on the room’s current occupant. He had turned around at the noise, and was regarding Ace curiously. He was of medium height, and very non-descript, except for the fact that he was missing one eye. He had an eye-patch over it, but you could tell he didn’t wear it just for show by the thin scar snaking out on the underside of the black piece of cloth. One eyebrow was raised in question, but no words left his mouth.

There wasn’t time for them anyway.

Ace crossed the room in the blink or an eye. Before the man could so much as twitch Ace had shoved him up against the wall, his fist grasping the man’s shirt and his forearm shoved against the man’s collarbones, momentarily forcing the air from his lungs. In his other hand, he held his knife, his entire arm pulled back, poised to stab the man in the throat or head.

“You son of a _bitch_!” Ace’s mouth was drawn into a deep scowl, and his eyes reflected even deeper anger. The man seemed unconcerned. His face was placid, but his eyes held confusion. He cocked his head inquisitively to the side, but otherwise made no move. It was then that Marco and Thatch came running through the door behind Ace.

They both stared in shock for a moment. Marco was the first to recover. “What hell are you doing Ace?!”

Hare turned calmly from Ace to look back at Marco and Thatch at their entry, but upon hearing the name, his eyes widened in surprise and refocused on Ace with newfound interest. His mouth widened into a smile. “ _Ace_ …” He dragged the word out, speaking low, almost to the point that it was a loud whisper. “You’ve grown so much! I didn’t even recognize you!”

Ace’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Hare continued, unperturbed. “How’s Sabo doing?” At this, Ace gave a near inhuman snarl of rage and drew his arm back further in preparation to strike. His arm darted forward, moving so fast it was nearly a blur. He would kill this man. There was no guilt, and no regret, no chance of mercy or compassion.

“Ace.”

The voice boomed across the room, serious and direct. And while none was held in the words, the tone implied an absolute command. Everything in the room froze. It was as if time itself stood still, waiting for the instructions the voice would convey.

Ace had frozen too. His blade was less than a centimeter away from Hare’s whole eye, and the muscles in Ace’s arm were still taut enough that even from this distance if he attacked now, Hare would die. But that voice held no other option besides obedience.

“Put. Him. Down. Now.” Oyaji’s voice seemed magnified in the dead silent room. From the moment Ace had moved to stab Hare, his face had gone dead, completely devoid of emotion. Hare, on the other hand, had retained his friendly, patronizing smile the whole time. At hearing the command, some emotion returned to Ace’s face. He glared at Hare menacingly.

“You don’t know what he’s done. He deserves to die.” The words came out angry, the last sentence’s words were rushed and accentuated. For the whole exchange, he maintained eye contact with Hare, his gaze burning into Hare’s own.

“I _said_. Put. Him. Down.”

Ace looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Whitebeard. Whitebeard’s eyes were as hard and determined as Ace’s own. They remained at a standstill for a moment longer before Ace said slowly, with his disgust clear in each word, “Yes, _captain_.” Whitebeard’s eyes widened. When Ace had joined, he had been overjoyed to have found a family, particularly someone to replace his own father, who he hated above all else. He hadn’t used the familial title Whitebeard usually went by, obeying not out of love, but because of authority.

But he did obey. He slowly released Hare and pulled the knife away. The movements were jerky, as if it were only by sheer force of will that he was able to stop himself at all. There was a pause. The room grew silent again.

Then, without warning or explanation, Ace spun on his heel and marched out of the room, face seemingly calm. Or rather, empty. Drained. He didn’t stop to look or speak with Thatch, Whitebeard, or Marco, and left the door open behind him.

“I’m sorry about that. Ace is usually a much more rational sort. Out of curiosity, why is it that he hates you so much?” Hare’s eyes had tracked Ace as he left the room, but at Whitebeard’s question, his gaze returned to the people left in the room.

Hare smiled for a moment before replying. “He blames me for the accidental death of a very dear friend of his.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 (Yup. Still mildly AU. Back-story’s different (really, REALLY different, so any purists out there should leave now.) and I’ve added a character or two. I gave Ace a pet cat. You know why? CUZ CATS ARE SASSY!! And because Ace seems like more of a cat person than a dog person. There’s swearing. You have been warned. Oh, also, I’ve added some stuff to the Moby Dick that probably isn’t there, and I’ve done some different things with Ace’s fighting style.)

* * *

Ace banged his fist against the wall. Again. He was currently inside his self-made room, a fairly small space with a bed, a writing desk covered in all manner of papers, a medium sized window with several odd-looking plants growing on the sill in pots, and the black, green-eyed cat currently glaring at him from the bed. The room had no apparent door. Ace had found it in the time before he had joined the Whitebeard Pirates. He had been thrown against a wall during one of his innumerable fights with Whitebeard and the wall had felt somewhat hollow. Later that day he had pulled a section of it off to reveal the chamber beneath. After installing a hidden door that blended with the wall and bringing some simple furniture inside, he’d had his own private room. No one else knew where it was or how to get in, so it made for a nice place to go to be alone, or to work. Or to cool off after running into a man you’d believed to be dead for almost ten years now. Ace grit his teeth and banged his head against the wall.

            “You’re going to lose what pitifully few brain cells you have doing that.” The cat said idly from her position on the bed. Ace glared at it. The cat met his eyes evenly.

            “Serpent…you suck at cheering me up. You know that?” Ace rubbed at the area above his right eyebrow tiredly. He could already feel the headache coming on.

            “Oh boo-hoo poor baby, your friends got mad at you because you tried to kill another of their friends for _no apparent reason!_ ” Ace pressed his back against the wall and slid to the floor, still rubbing his head, and gave no response.

            Serpent sighed and hopped down from the bed. “You honestly expected them to just stand by while you killed someone they considered their ally without giving them any kind of explanation?” She padded quietly over to Ace, and stuck out one forepaw to rest on his left boot, pressing against it comfortingly.  “You need to take a break, Ace. You’ve already got too much on your plate for one day. Give it all time to settle, and then start working it out tomorrow.”

            Ace chuckled drily. “Careful, Serpent, you’re being almost _nice_.” Upon hearing this, Serpent sniffed, sunk her claws deep enough into the boot to prick Ace’s foot, and stalked off to her usual perch on the windowsill.

            “Water this plant. It smells almost as bad as you do.” She stared out the window, never once looking over her shoulder at Ace. He laughed and shook his head, standing up and watering the plant.

* * *

 

Ace sighed. Dinner had been…interesting. Different than he’d expected. He would have expected news of his little outbreak to spread like wildfire, but no. Everyone acted normally. It had been downright pleasant. It helped to take his mind off the stresses of the day, and relax into the evening. After dinner, he had gone outside and read on deck with a couple other crewmates nearby. Once it had gotten too dark to read, he had returned to his room, bidding the others good night.

            Now, hours later, he sat back in his room, going through the assortment of papers on his desk. The desk was illuminated by a candle, and the only sounds in the room were the scratching of Ace’s pen and Serpent’s quiet breathing from where she slept at the foot of the bed. Ace yawned and rubbed his eyes. Serpent raised her head from her position on the bed.

            “Sleep is necessary. You may get more in during the day than anyone else, but the sane ones in the room would appreciate it if you turned off the damn light and stopped making that terrible scratching sound.” Serpent drawled sleepily. Ace yawned again.

            “Go. To. Sleep. That endless stack of paper will still be there in the morning. Just shut up and admit you’re tired and want to sleep.” Serpent was now glaring at him through one barely opened eye. Ace sighed.

            “Alright. I will. Scoot your cat butt over and let me get into my own bed, if you please.” Ace stood up, bending over again to blow out the candle on the desk. The curtains on the window were open, so as soon as the candle was extinguished pale moonlight seeped into the room. At this, Serpent stood up, seemed to smirk, and moved to sit on Ace’s pillow instead.

            Ace growled dangerously at the cat. “Serpent…don’t make me throw you out the window. I know how much you _love_ water.” Serpent opened her eyes again to look at Ace.

            “Bite me. You wouldn’t throw me out that window. You couldn’t get me back yourself if you did, so you’d have to get someone else to come after me, and everyone else is asleep.” And with that, closed her eyes and went back to sleep. She was curled into a perfect ball, with just her little front paws sticking out and her tail tucked under her chin. _Damn cat being cute._ Ace thought. But she really was adorable like this. He didn’t have the heart to move her. So he climbed in to bed and rested his head on his arm, using it as a pillow instead.

            Several minutes of silence passed, and when Serpent did move, Ace was already deeply asleep. Serpent walked to the door and butted her head against the device that would release the catch on the smaller door Ace had built into the wall for her. The mechanism released silently. _If there’s one thing Ace’s good for,_ Serpent thought to herself, _it’s coming up with clever ideas_. She padded through the door and it shut again behind her, blending in perfectly with the rest of the wall. Serpent made her way through the ship, heading towards one room in particular. If there was one man who was going to be awake after even Ace had gone to sleep, it was going to be him.

            When Serpent arrived at the door to Marco’s room, it was slightly ajar with gentle light pouring out into the hallway. She slipped into the room silently, weaving around furniture, and jumped up onto Marco’s desk, where he was currently seated. He was working on paperwork, and apparently deep into it. Serpent sat on the desk for a few moments, finally got bored waiting for acknowledgment and just said “Hello, Marco!” In a bright, overly-happy voice. Marco jumped about a foot in the air, as he hadn’t noticed her until she spoke.

            Serpent laughed, and once Marco regained his composure, he turned to look at her with nothing but annoyance on his face. “Dammit Serpent, don’t scare me like that! I could have accidentally lit all of this on fire, and then had to spend the next 6 hours redoing it all!” He was gesturing wildly at the papers on the desk. He sat back down in the chair, sighing tiredly. “What do you want, anyway? We both know you’re usually asleep at this hour too.”

            Serpent’s mirth faded, and she turned to look at Marco seriously. “I want to talk to you about Ace.” She said the words calmly, but the lack of any kind of insult showed Marco just how serious she was. He turned to look at her fully.

            “Are you referring to the incident where he almost stabbed out a man’s eye this afternoon?” Marco said it drily, but he was interested in what Serpent had to say. It was very rare that she took anyone seriously or had an important discussion with anyone besides Ace. Despite her near-constant teasing, she did respect Ace’s opinion, and though she’d never admit it out loud, cared for him deeply.

            Serpent sighed. “He’s not handling this one too well.”

            “Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the rage-fit of the century and the way he spoke to Oyaji.”

            Serpent winced at that. “He feels really bad about that, by the way. Was beating himself up over it most of the afternoon.” Her eyes left Marco to instead stare out the window at the nearly still sea. Her eyes were distant, almost unfocused. “He’s angry, yes, but that’s not all.”

            “Oh? And how do you know? Can you read minds now?”

            “Bitch, please. I’m a cat. I know everything.” Her attention had returned to Marco at this, and now she was almost glaring at him. They had a stare down for a moment, but then Serpent’s eyes closed. Marco was damn near shocked. Serpent never backed down from any kind of challenge, and yet she had basically just submitted to him. When she spoke, it was quietly, her voice taking on a gentleness Marco had never heard in her before.

            “He’s angry, yes. He wants to kill Hare with every fiber of his being.”  Her eyes reopened and focused solely on Marco, looking him right in the eye. “But that isn’t all. He’s scared, Marco. Really, really scared.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 (Yup, you guessed it, still mildly AU. Ace’s back-story has been changed completely. So has Sabo’s. Thanks to those of you who reviewed, it’s really helped to motivate me into writing this chapter. Reviews really do help me, even if they’re only a sentence or two, or even just one word. Reviews let me know if anyone besides me is actually interested in what I’m saying. There’s going to be swearing and violence. The violence gets upped in this chapter, so you have been warned.)

 

* * *

 

Ace was still. He was in a large, dark room. Well. He assumed it was large. He couldn’t see the walls, ceiling, or floor. There were no windows or lamps or candles or anything, so the darkness was absolute. Ace tentatively looked around him, but there was no break in the blackness. He tried to move from where he was standing, but found he couldn’t, that something was tightly holding him there. It was tangled all about his limbs, preventing nearly all movement. Ace’s brow furrowed in confusion. How did he get here again? He thought deeply for several moments, but truly could not remember what led to his apparent imprisonment here.

            The dark unnerved Ace, but what he found the most disturbing was what the room _sounded_ like. The room was completely and utterly silent. Nothing stirred, there weren’t even the occasional scritchings of mice or rats from behind the walls. Nothing moved, and no one spoke. Ace shivered. The dark, the silence, the inability to move…Ace was creeped out.  All his senses were on high alert for even the slightest bit of sensory input, but there was truly nothing to be sensed. Just this endless void. Ace felt the beginnings of panic setting in, and tried to steady his heightened breathing. _I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left, only I will remain._ Ace repeated this in his mind as a kind of mantra, and he began to overcome the sickening dread that had been rising up inside him. But that’s when it started.

            The screaming.

            Ace’s entire body grew tense and he felt himself go cold. He still couldn’t see anything, but from all around him, seemingly from the darkness itself, came a single, agonized scream.

            And it was a voice Ace recognized.

            “No…” It came out as a whisper, almost a whimper. He searched the room desperately, trying to find the source of the noise. His eyes still registered nothing but darkness. The scream, if possible, intensified even further.

            Ace’s search grew more and more desperate, and he himself finally called out.

“SABO!! SABO, WHERE ARE YOU??” The screams continued with no break, longer than one would think the human lungs had air capacity for. Ace surged against whatever was holding him, still shouting Sabo’s name, hoping for some response. The bonds hardly twitched, and didn’t loosen.

            Ace struggled desperately, throwing himself against the bonds with all his strength, but to no avail. The screaming continued around him, and now it not only came from all around him, but echoed inside his own head, endless and deafening. Ace’s legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed against his bonds, his head hanging down in front of him. He was crying, desperate to help his agonized brother but unable to do anything. Just like the first time. “Sabo…” The name came out between sobs, but much weaker, no longer a shout but a hoarse whimper. And then something happened that cut Ace deeper than even the screams had.

            The silence returned.

            Ace’s eyes widened. _No…nononononononononono don’t let this be real…this can’t be happening. Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead._

There was a creaking sound, as if a door with old, unoiled hinges was being opened. A white light shone from in front of Ace, forming the silhouette of an opened door. Ace raised his tear-stained face to look at the now opened blackness. _Salvation…?_ Ace thought. _Or just some new form of hell?_ And then a figure came striding through the doorway, holding something in its left hand. Ace could see both the man and what he was holding clearly, despite the fact that they should have been indistinct due to the harsh backlighting.

            He would rather they were indistinct.

            The man now striding towards him was none other than Edward Hare. In his right hand he held a blood covered surgical scalpel. His face was pulled into a cruel mockery of a smile, the corners of his mouth pulled beyond human capacity into something completely insane, and pure white, perfectly straight teeth filled the mouth. The ends of the smile were held in this position by a single cross stitch through each corner, and the thread of the one on the right hung loosely between the stitch and the two-and-a-half-foot-long sewing needle impaling Hare’s head. Hare’s one present eye was wide, the whites showing all around the iris and filled with the same madness, and the other hung gorily from his face by its optic nerves. Clotted, congealed blood was being pumped sluggishly from the socket, and it was staining the teeth on that side a sickening red-brown.

In Hare’s left hand he held Sabo’s face. He had peeled all the skin off of Sabo’s head without damaging any of the features or getting it covered in blood. In the space where the eye was supposed to go, there was just a black hole, as if the sockets were still present, except filled with darkness and stretched farther back through the face than the real eye sockets would have. They also stretched far wider than the human eyelids could have, and formed perfect circles. The face hung slack in Hare’s hand, and yet still it felt as though those black sockets were staring at Ace.

And Hare strode closer still. Ace was terrified of this nightmare image before him and now threw himself backwards against the restraints that kept him from fleeing.

And still Hare walked, blood dripping from the raised scalpel, smile as wide as pain stitched into his face. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Hare was less than two yards away from the desperately struggling Ace.

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Ace’s struggling grew even more frenzied. He realized it was hands holding him down, and this was good. Hands can be killed or cut off.

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Step _drip._

Hare was less than a yard away now. He raised Sabo’s face so it was directly in front of Ace’s. It hung loosely for a moment, but then seemed to re-animate and lost its limpness. The mouth shut and it turned itself to face Ace more fully. Ace stared at it in abject horror. The black holes of its eyes seemed to meet Ace’s own.

“Good morning.” When it spoke, it was not in the voice that Ace remembered Sabo having. It spoke with Ace’s voice. And then Ace was being dragged forward, into the never-ending darkness of this thing’s eyes. He bucked and strained wildly against the hands, shoving against them with the strength that only true panic can properly fuel. He tried to turn himself so as to kill whoever it was that was holding him there, but still that depth, that absence of anything resembling humanity grew closer, closer, closer, closer-

He threw himself in one last gargantuan effort against the restraining hands and felt them give. He spun around, grasping the hilt of a knife and had the hands pushed up against a wall, with the knife pressed tightly against their throat, about to deal death and then escape this monstrosity-

And met Marco’s usually half-lidded blue eyes, now wide with shock and a little bit of fear. The knife, still poised at Marco’s throat, ready to kill, had drawn a small trail of blood. Ace took a small step back, dropping the knife. It embedded itself neatly into the floorboards, a couple inches away from the hilt.

Ace ran to the window of his small room, threw it open, and threw up over the side of the ship. Marco was still looking at him like some kind of wounded animal, unpredictable and vicious. After Ace was finished, he wiped his mouth, turned around and collapsed against the wall, sinking down into a sitting position on the floor. He brought his hands up to his face and was surprised to find it wet with tears. He wiped them off, then stared at his hands. They were shaking terribly, and he closed them into fists, traces of his nightmare still replaying themselves in his mind. His breathing was unsteady, and came close to panting. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to chase the memories out of his mind.

“Ace…?” Marco said tentatively. Ace made no response. Marco stepped away from the wall where he had been pushed and began slowly walking towards Ace, regarding him with real concern. After a short silence, save Ace’s uneven breathing, he reached the spot where Ace was sitting and slowly lowered himself into a sitting position beside him.

“What was that? A nightmare?” Marco said it gently, pressing his shoulder reassuringly against Ace’s own. Ace gave a mirthless laugh, but kept his face lowered.

“My life’s been one big fucking nightmare. And yet now my subconscious has found ways to make it even worse.” Ace’s voice sounded hollow, wrung out.

“Want to talk about it?” Marco was still speaking gently, doing what he could to try to comfort Ace. Ace was silent for a couple moments.

“How’s your neck?” Marco raised a hand to inspect the small cut on his neck. It was thin, and not deep at all. So long as Ace hadn’t poisoned the blade with those weird plants of his, it should heal over and be gone in a couple days. It sucked that he couldn’t just use his devil fruit ability to heal it, but that particular knife was a special one that Ace kept strapped to the underside of his bed. The blade was coated in a very fine powder made of crushed sea-stone, and when it cut a devil fruit user it left enough of a residue to rob them of their powers for the next two days. Damn smart idea, and it had come in handy more than once in combat.

“It’s nothing. It looks worse than it is.” Marco said it nonchalantly, although he mentally shivered, remembering Ace holding him against that wall. It was pure chance that he hadn’t actually killed Marco. If Ace had come to his senses a moment later, Marco’s windpipe and jugular vein would have been sliced wide. Marco regarded Ace worriedly. Ace seemed to be recovering from the dream, but every few minutes he would give a violent shudder, as the details came back to haunt him in vivid clarity.

“How did you get in here, anyway? I didn’t know you even knew about this place.” Ace said it quietly, it was almost a mumble really, but Marco responded readily, trying to get Ace’s mind off of whatever it was he had seen.

“Serpent told me where the door mechanism was. She said that you were still awake, though. When I came in you were all twisted up in your blankets, covered in sweat. I saw you struggling and tried to wake you, but you just grew more frenzied. At one point it was a struggle just to hold you down. Then, at the very end, you actually threw me off and after that…well, you woke up.” Marco lowered his head further to try to look Ace in the eye. “That must have been one hell of a dream.”

Ace sighed, raising his head. He leaned it back against the wall, running his fingers through his hair, eyes still closed. If there was one thing you could count on Marco for, it was his prudence. He had said nothing about Ace’s tears, or the fact that he had probably cried out in his sleep. He knew Ace would talk if he truly wanted to share, and if he didn’t, it would simply be destructive to force it out of him. Ace looked at Marco. He knew he was probably curious, but there are some things you don’t share. Even with the closest of friends. Even with family.

Ace sighed and gave a weak smile. “I’m all right now, Marco. It’s probably some absurd hour of the night and you’ll be wanting to get some rest before you force yourself to wake up at some disgustingly early hour. I can take it from here. You go get some rest.” Marco smiled and stood. As he walked towards the door he stopped and spoke.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Ace made the smile wider and nodded. Marco started walking again. He pushed the small wall panel that would open the door and moved to shut it behind him. He paused halfway through the door.

“Are you going to be okay fo-“

“Marco. Go get some sleep. You need it more than anyone else on this damn boat. I’m fine, it was just a dream.” Ace’s voice took on a mildly scolding tone, and with a chuckle Marco finished shutting the door behind himself. Ace didn’t move after Marco had left.

The smile faded from Ace’s features. He turned to look up at the moon through his open window. After staring at it, hypnotized, for several moments, he stood. He looked at his bed and snorted. _Like there’s even a chance in hell I’m going to be getting any more sleep tonight._ So instead, Ace shook himself and turned towards his still overly-crowded desk. He sat down in his desk-chair and began sorting through the paperwork heaped untidily on it. Some of it was reports from other 2 nd division members, some was designs or sketches of new inventions Ace had come up with, and some was old notes he had taken from various written sources. While digging through there he found a letter he had meant to send weeks earlier before it had mysteriously disappeared, and laughed at himself for his own disorganization.

With a last chuckle he shook his head and began sorting and filing away all the various documents. Nothing like menial work to take your mind off anything at all.  Occasionally, however, Ace would falter in his work, his eyes growing distant as he remembered the horrific picture his subconscious had painted for him that night. _It would be easier to forget…_ Ace thought,

 

_…If part of it weren’t the truth._

 

* * *

(A/N Wow this is long. This, like, doubles the word count of the whole story. Sorry if I bored you all out of your minds ^ ^; Chapter 4 will be out whenever I feel inspired/motivated to write it. Like it? Spend, like, 5 seconds writing me a 2-word review and even that’ll help me get it out faster. Longer reviews are better of course, but anything helps! Let me know what you like/dislike! I’m still open to suggestions, but just know I already have the plot mostly planned out. Still, just because I have an idea doesn’t mean it’s the best one out there, so send me yours and I’ll take them into consideration. Like I said, anything helps. Thank you all for being amazing, even if you don’t bother to actually read this!!)


	4. Chapter 4

 

Ace stretched in his chair. His back and neck cracked several times, and he looked out the window at the currently rising sun. During the remainder of the night he had completely cleared his desk, as well as read over all the new reports. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up with a groan and made his way towards the door, pausing only for an instant to check his appearance in the small mirror beside his bed. He had mild dark spots under his eyes, but the whites weren’t bloodshot, which was good. With a sigh of annoyance Ace opened the top drawer on his desk. It contained a variety of creams, pastes, powders, pencils, liquids, putties and artificial facial hair. Ace reached in and pulled out several skin-toned powders and pastes. He generally saved this stuff for the disguises he liked to use during low-profile missions, as high quality stage make-up could be pretty damn expensive, but he didn’t want everyone making a fuss over the fact that he hadn’t slept last night. Honestly, it wasn’t the first time he had survived on less than 3 hours of sleep. He rubbed a combination of creams and powders under each eye, using his fingertips to blend it in. Each eye took about 3 minutes, and after he was finished he put the cases back in the desk, wiping his fingers on a small cloth also kept there. Ace rechecked his appearance to make sure the make-up was undetectable, and them pushed his way through the hidden door.

            There wasn’t anyone currently in the hallway, and Ace made his way towards the deck in silence. Once outside, Ace gave a shiver at the cold temperature. He raised his body temperature slightly to make up for the chilly air and walked towards the bow of the ship, staring out at the rising sun. The sea was calm right now, and as the sun rose, its reflection seemed to shine even more brilliantly than the sun itself, reflected as it was in the mirror surface of the sea. The sky was painted a gentle peach, but the water, with its darker hues, was a deep orange that nothing could ever capture, orange so vibrant the sun seemed almost pale in comparison.

            Ace smiled at the beauty of the image, and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. This was why he had always wanted to be a pirate. Freedom. No one to answer to except the sky and the wind. The aroma of coffee surrounded him, and he turned his head, smile still spread across his features, to see Thatch approaching with a steaming mug cradled between his hands. Thatch _hated_ the cold and was currently wearing a turtleneck sweater and had a scarf wrapped around his neck and chin. Ace raised an amused eyebrow.

            “Hello there, Mr. Penguin. You sure you want to be out on a day with such _terrible_ weather as this?” He said it in a friendly, sarcastic tone, and couldn’t hold back the chuckle that escaped when Thatch merely glared at him over the scarf.

            “Good morning.” Thatch mumbled it around the scarf. The smile stayed on Ace’s face, but the corner of his eye twitched slightly. “ _Good morning”_ Ace’s own voice echoed the same words inside his head, and in his mind he again saw the image of Sabo’s peeled-off face, the eye sockets deeper than the pits of hell, dragging Ace forwards and down, down, down into their abysmal depths. Ace forced the image from his mind.

            “Good morning to you too.”

 

* * *

 

Breakfast that morning consisted of waffles and sausage. Ace grabbed a plate and put on a veritable typhoon of syrup. The sugar would help keep his energy up.

And waffles tasted better that way anyway.

Ace sat in his usual spot, with Marco and Thatch. Their table was one in the right hand corner on the wall with the door leading to the main deck. It was a rectangular table, about the size of your average picnic table. Like all the tables in the room, it was well used and looked a little worse for the wear.

Ace was sitting with his back to the majority of the room, and across from him, with their backs to the wall and a clear view of the full room were Marco and Thatch. Marco sat that way because it was basically his job to make sure the entire mess hall didn’t explode into a massive food-fight whenever the opportunity presented itself. Thatch sat that way because he generally liked to face the person he was talking to, and he spoke to Ace more during meals as Marco was busy making sure nobody was making a mess of things. It also made it easier for him to swipe Marco’s food at every possible opportunity.

That morning, as usual, they were chatting about everything and anything. At the beginning of the meal, Ace had shot a meaningful, if slightly imploring look at Marco, silently asking him not to speak of what happened the night before. Marco had given a tiny nod, and Ace had sighed in relief, hoping to get back to business as usual aboard the Moby Dick.

Thatch was partway through a story about his first solo mission as a member of fourth division. Like everything with Thatch, it was humorous and had Ace laughing for what felt like the first time in an eternity. Ace felt some of the weight lifting off his shoulders. Marco was looking behind Ace as usual to monitor the room. His eyes were calmly roving over the entire space, always moving, doing his best to keep his eyes on all his little brothers at once. Thatch was getting to the part where he entirely blew his cover and ended up being chased out of town by an angry mob, when Ace noticed something. Marco’s eyes had stopped moving. They were fixed on a single point, and his eyes showed mild alarm. Less than a moment later, he put his usual calm façade back on, but Ace saw through it. Marco had a damn good poker face, but Ace knew him well enough to read him like a book.

When Marco quietly nudged Thatch, Ace knew it was something really serious. Thatch had then snuck a subtle glance over Ace’s shoulder to look at whatever it was Marco had seen while pretending to pause looking for the right word. After that he had resumed telling his story with new animation, the gestures were wider, the words more passionate. He was desperately trying to hold Ace’s attention without it being too obvious, and on anyone else it would have worked. Ace supposed Thatch wasn’t made commander of fourth division for nothing, but Ace had grown up weaving webs of lies for his own safety, hiding his identity from everyone he met, and he recognized a decoy when he saw one.

Ace glanced between the two of them. Marco was making a farce of pretending to be surveying the mess hall as usual, and Thatch was still trying to keep Ace from looking at whatever Marco was _really_ looking at. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. Ace knew the layout of the tables, and based on how Marco’s eyes were tracking it, it was weaving between them and making its way closer, and at a fairly fast pace.

Marco seemed to be growing more desperate, and Thatch noticed. He took another glance over Ace’s shoulder and even _his_ eyes widened slightly. Ace felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He felt something brush against his right arm and knew someone had sat down next to him. He kept his face totally calm, still smiling from a funny part of Thatch’s story, but his heart was beating wildly and fear was writhing like a black worm inside his stomach. _Fuck you, you old bastard_.

“Good morning, Ace, Thatch, Marco.” Hare said it with a nod to each in turn. Ace’s digestive tract was trying to shrivel up and die and his lungs were seeing exactly how small they could make themselves. Breathing regularly was becoming a task, but Ace was determined to keep a placid face. Ace could feel the anger still burning in him, and used that energy to help regulate his breathing and keep a cool demeanor. _I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me, then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain._

Ace’s face betrayed none of what he was really feeling, and he was keeping his body almost completely relaxed. Even Marco and Thatch couldn’t see through it, and both looked confused. Well, he couldn’t really blame them, seeing as the last time they saw him in contact with Hare had been when Ace was doing his damndest to kill the man. The tension around the table was tangible, and the silence began to stretch. Ace was the first to speak.

“If you will all excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite.” Ace said it in a calm voice, and his movements were as even as ever. Hare looked up at him.

“Why? Are you sick?” Ace’s mask of calm smiled down at Hare.

“No. You see, we’ve had a recent infestation of vermin, and the smell puts me off.”

“Ah. Rats can be quite the problem at sea. I can see how they could make one lose interest in meals.”

“Exactly. So if you’ll all excuse me.” With a polite smile, Ace took his dishes and left the table, bringing the plates back to the kitchen and then exited back out on deck. Marco and Thatch watched him go. Thatch had almost smiled at Ace’s concealed insult, but since it would be impolite towards a guest, kept a calm face.

 

* * *

 

Out on deck, Ace had retreated back to the prow of the ship, hoping to find serenity and solitude by watching the sea. It took him a while to regain emotional peace, but seeing the sky and feeling the fresh wind and sea spray helped enormously. Maybe half an hour later, Ace was still seated on the railing near the very front of the ship, and had finally begun to relax.

“And here I thought you had lost all the fear I worked so hard to put in you. But now I see. It was just hiding.” A hand had been placed on Ace’s right shoulder.

Any peace Ace might have felt, burned. The dread returned, full-force. No one really came out to this part of deck, so they were alone. Ace was completely frozen, his body so tense he thought he might snap like dried wood.

The grip on his shoulder tightened suddenly, and hard pressure was put on Ace’s shoulder so that he bent over. Ace gasped and felt another hand press itself over his mouth so he couldn’t cry out. Hare brought his face down next to Ace’s, and the next words were but a whisper.

“You are _mine._ The government will simply be overjoyed to see Roger’s bastard returned to them. When the time comes, I’m taking you with me again, and there’s not a damn thing you or your friends on this ship can do about it.” Hare smiled. “I’ll probably be taking one of them too. I had hoped to be able to get Whitebeard, but since your little _stunt,_ ” at the word, the pressure on Ace’s shoulder intensified, and he winced, feeling the bones in his shoulder creak, “yesterday, he’s been watching me closer.” He turned Ace’s face to look at him. “So which should it be? Marco or Thatch?” Ace’s eyes widened, but Hare released him and punched him hard in the solar plexus. The air rushed from Ace’s lungs and he was left doubled over, gasping. Hare stepped away from him, regarding him coolly.

“You know, it’s really a pity you don’t scar. But I’m sure one of them will. Savor your freedom, Ace. You haven’t got much of it left.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ace looked blearily out his window to see the sun rising in its usual brilliant hues. It had been almost two weeks since Hare’s threat on the bow, and between the tension and the nightmares Ace had slept a grand total of about 6 hours in that time. Ace was truly nearing the end of his rope. Actually, he was fairly sure it had ended two feet ago and he just hadn’t noticed he was falling yet.

Ace looked back down at his desk. His project last night had been repairing a concealed weapon of his.  It was a flat blade that, in its sheath, was strapped to the underside of one’s arm.  The blade itself was attached to a drawstring, which was, in turn, attached to a ring one wore around their finger. By flicking back the wrist the blade would slide out a good ten inches from the base of the hand, but when retracted it was nearly undetectable.

            Ace rubbed his eyes tiredly and picked up the weapon, quickly strapping it to the underside of his right wrist. Ace was in the process of fixing the one for his left arm, but he hadn’t gotten around to it last night. He glared down at it in annoyance. _Well…it can be tonight’s project._ Right now all Ace wanted was some god damned caffeine. Or sugar. Or both. He glanced at the clock and decided that by now the communal coffee pot would have been prepared for the morning stampede and stood up to make his way down to the dining hall.

Ace stirred his coffee and stared at the sheet of old, water-stained paper before him. He’d been working on it for hours now and he was still only halfway through it. Translating Persian to English was a pain in the ass. Not only was Persian a dead language and thus he couldn’t ask anyone for help, but the document was also in some kind of _dialect_. Ace was scribbling down the translation onto a spare sheet of paper, pausing every now and then to dip his pen into the inkpot. Marco was sitting beside him, filling out seemingly endless paperwork. Ace heard familiar footsteps approaching and didn’t bother to look up.

            “Hello, Jericho.” Ace said it in a calm voice but was internally a little pissed off. Jericho was a god damned prick and from the very moment Ace had set foot on the Moby Dick Jericho had been making insults, undoing hard work, and generally pissing Ace the hell off. Needless to say, there was very rarely a polite encounter between the two. Jericho sneered down at Ace.

            “Newspaper’s just come in. And you know what? They raised your bounty. Now it’s 350 million.”

            “Seeing as I recently got back from a mission to take out several marine officers, that doesn’t exactly surprise me.” Ace said it without looking up. Jericho’s sneer deepened.

            “You want to know what I think? I think that the government raised your bounty because your own mother hates you and fucked some higher-level marines.” Ace’s eyebrow twitched. Jericho continued, undeterred. “Because what marine in their right mind would be scared of _you_? You’re just some bastard of a low-class whore.” Ace looked up at Jericho.

            “Actually, no, my parents were married. However I cannot see you being a legitimate child, as I don’t think an orangutan would consent to marry a sewer rat. “ Ace said it in a calm voice. Jericho scowled down at him. Ace dipped his pen again. “Now, if you have nothing further to say save spewing idiocy about people you know nothing about, can I get back to my work?”

            “I’m not finished talking to you!” Ace ignored him in favor of beginning to translate the next line of the document. Jericho knocked over the inkpot. The liquid spilled all over the sheet Ace was writing on, soaking the majority of it black before Ace could blink. He quickly lifted up the original document and turned his eyes up to glare at Jericho.

            “I’d been working on that for _three_ _hours._ ” If there was one thing Ace hated, it was wasted time. Ace set the document in an ink-free place and rubbed his temples with two fingers, eyes closed.  “Marco, could you please tell Jericho that I’m not in the mood to deal with his bullshit? I haven’t gotten enough sleep to put up with his stupidity this morning.” Marco looked up at Jericho, his eyes telling him to leave. He didn’t.

            “You have a little brother, don’t you Portgas? He as much of a shitty weakling as you?” Ace froze. Jericho sensed his advantage and continued. “I bet he is. I bet he’s even weaker than you. I bet he’s some gay-assed little bastard and I bet you used to fuck him when you were younger.” Ace’s hands were clenched into fists and his eyes closed. The spoon for his coffee was still in his hand and looked as though it were trying hard not to bend.

            “Marco. Could you please tell Jericho if he speaks again I make no promises as to his long-term health?” Jericho smiled down at Ace cruelly, bending over so they were eye to eye.

            “I could kill him in two seconds, tops.”

            There was a line there. Jericho had just pole-vaulted over it and run a marathon in the wrong direction. Ace’s eyes shot open. He stood suddenly, his chair sliding back violently. His eyes were dark, full of passionate fury. Jericho looked taken aback by the anger contained there and took a shocked step backwards. He wasn’t nearly fast enough. Ace was around the table in an instant and punched Jericho in the face, then the stomach. Jericho doubled over and Ace grabbed the back of his shirt, throwing him onto the table. Ace jumped up onto the table and crouched over Jericho, holding him down. Jericho turned his face sideways, trying to deflect any further blows when Ace slammed his closed fist down less than an inch from Jericho’s nose. Jericho’s eyes widened. Embedded about two centimeters into the wood of the table was a spoon.

            “I can tolerate insults. Insults are just air and lies. But the _moment_ you threaten my family…” Ace trailed off, staring straight into Jericho. “I’m letting you off with a warning this time. But if you _ever_ threaten my little brother again, I will kill you.” Ace said it coldly, and when he was finished speaking, got off the table, grabbed the old document, and left the mess hall, leaving Marco and anyone else present to stare after him in shock. Jericho spluttered for a moment and sat up. He looked at Marco.

            “Aren’t you going to do anything? He just attacked me! A fellow crewmember!” Marco looked at him for a moment, eyes lacking much sympathy.

            “He tolerated you more than most people would have. The majority would have snapped after what you said about his mother. He also gave you two warnings. It’s your own damn fault he attacked you, you’re just lucky he didn’t decide to physically harm you. If he’d actually hurt you I’d be more pissed, but he didn’t break any bones or cause you any long-term harm. Just count yourself lucky and leave Ace alone. Honestly, if you haven’t learned that lesson by now, I wonder at your sanity.” Marco stood, leaving Jericho to stutter behind him, and made his way out towards the deck, following the same path Ace had taken. _Well that was surprising. I’ve never seen him get that violent with Jericho. Or anyone._ Marco’s brows furrowed. _Just what makes him so ferociously protective?_

Ace ran a hand over his face and hair, pacing back and forth in the crow’s nest. Serpent watched him with growing irritation, tracking his back and forth movement.

            “Honestly, you’re going to give me whiplash if you keep this up. It’s not like you actually hurt or killed him, and seeing as he was being that much of a bastard, I think he earned it.” Ace continued pacing. Serpent sighed. “He’s not actually going to hurt Luffy. Take some deep breaths Ace. Calm down. Think rationally. Don’t you have bigger problems right now?”

            “Like what?” Both turned their heads to see Marco and Thatch approaching. Ace sighed.

            “You here to chew me out for attacking Jericho?” Marco blinked.

            “Actually, no. Jericho was way out of line, and you lasted longer than pretty much anyone else on the ship would have. I would’ve hit him too. I actually came to thank you.” He chuckled. “I never thought a spoon could be turned into a weapon, but I guess you learn something new every day. Anyway, thanks for not killing him. And you really put him in his place. I’m not saying he’s never going to bother you again, but I think it’ll be a while.” Ace blinked several times. He seemed a little surprised, not being in trouble and all. Marco was curious.

            “Why was it the threat that bothered you so much?” Ace looked up at Thatch and sighed, looking back down again.

            “Because of a promise I made a long time ago.” This really piqued their interest. Thatch was the first to speak.

            “To who?” Ace shook his head and gave a wry smile.

            “If I’m going to tell you, I may as well tell the whole story.” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling, looking for the right words to begin. After a pause, he began talking. “When I was about three months old, my mother, as well as the entire island we lived on, was killed in a Buster Call. It’s one of the reasons I hate marines so much. There weren’t even any pirates on the island. The government just did it because…because they were sure that the family of a pirate was living there. They killed 20,000 civilians on the suspicion that maybe 2 of them were affiliated with pirates.

            “The only reason I survived was because of a marine vice-admiral named Monkey D Garp. My mother’s last wish was that I might be saved. He took pity on us, and probably felt guilty over what the government had done. What it had destroyed. He took me away from there and brought me to a small island in East Blue. His daughter-in-law was living there, and she adopted me. Monkey D. Sophie was probably one of the most tolerant and loving women to ever walk the earth. She raised me from infancy. When I was a little over three years old, she got pregnant. Everything was going fine until about halfway through the pregnancy. She got sick. Really, really sick. The doctors thought she was going to lose the baby, but she didn’t.

            “I did my best to take care of her, and when I was a little over 4 years old, she gave birth to my little brother. But…she died. The sickness plus the strain of giving birth was too much for her, and she passed away.

            “Luffy was my only remaining family, and I cherished him. I’ve had to be self-sufficient enough to raise myself and him since I was four years old. Garp would, of course, drop by every now and again, but he never stayed for long, and he sucked as any kind of parental figure anyway.

            “When Luffy was 5 a crew of pirates decided to use our island as a kind of base of operation. Luffy was ecstatic, of course. I was…a little more reserved. The pirates, it turned out, were none other than Red Haired Shanks’ crew. Luffy befriended them instantly, of course, and after a while, I accepted them too. Shanks was probably the closest thing we ever had to a father growing up, and he really did love us as his sons.

            “Anyway, a little ways after my tenth birthday, a bunch of marines came to town looking for Shanks. The commanding officer was none other than Edward Hare.” Ace paused, considering what to say next. Should he tell the truth? “Onboard the ship was a boy, about my age, named Sabo. Sabo and I became friends and I began to see him as another member of my family. But…”

Again Ace trailed off. Should he lie or be honest? Marco and Thatch deserved the truth, but Ace wasn’t sure he was ready to share it. He closed his eyes. “…But the marines got in a fight with a pirate crew. Not Shanks’ thank god, but Sabo was killed in the battle. I’d had to bury another member of my family. I didn’t have his body, but he damn well deserved more of a funeral than the marines gave him. So I made him a tombstone and did what I could for him.

“I’d had to bury three members of my family before I was 11 years old. After that, I made a promise to him, Sophie, my mother, and myself that I would never again dig another grave for my family. Soon after that, Shanks and his crew left for the Grand Line again. Luffy was really all I had left.” Ace’s brows furrowed. “But how am I supposed to protect him when I’m an eternity away? I can’t just let threats like the one Jericho made slide. This is the only way I’ve found to keep him safe. Because you never know when someone will take away what’s most important to you.”

Marco and Thatch stared at Ace. It made sense now. Growing up, Ace had lost pretty much everyone he considered family. Most had died and he’d had to bury them with his own hands. Even if Jericho’s threat was empty, Ace was doing what he could to protect what little family he had left in the only way he could being this far away. Serpent was looking at Ace too with something akin to wonder. Or was it surprise?

Marco walked over to Ace, putting his hand on Ace’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. “But you have more family now, Ace. We’re your family too. And, by extension, Luffy’s. We look after our own. We’d make sure a threat like Jericho’s wasn’t legitimate or, if it was, never came to fruition.” Ace looked up at Marco.

“Thank you.” Ace smiled gently. And there was something almost desperate in that smile, like Ace had been drowning and was now safely back on shore. Marco smiled back at him. _Just how long have you been alone, Ace?_ The thought made Marco sad. There’s a difference between surviving and truly living. Thatch came over too, and smiled at Ace warmly.

“What’s this little brother of yours like, anyway?” Ace’s smile bloomed into something wider, happier.

“Actually, he’s a lot like you. Happy-go-lucky and always laughing. He can’t lie worth a damn though. Gotten into a lot of trouble because of it. He’s also a lot more innocent than you.” Thatch just laughed and Marco chuckled. “He can seem a little…unintelligent at times, but when you really need him to be, he’s there for you. He’d throw himself off a bridge to protect someone he met the day before.” Marco smiled.

“Seems like a good kid. I hope we get to meet him someday. I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work now. I’ll see you two later.” Marco turned and made his way down the ladder and back onto deck. Thatch turned to Ace.

“I actually have to leave too. Make sure nobody blew up my kitchen and all that.” He leaned in, and whispered conspiratorially. “But I came up with a great prank to pull on Marco. We have to wait until he gets all settled in his work, though.” Ace just laughed and shook his head. Thatch was always great at cheering you up. _He’s like Luffy in that way too._ Thatch began climbing down the ladder and then made his way across the deck and back into the kitchens. Ace turned around, still chuckling, to see Serpent sitting in front of him, looking at him confusedly.

“Why did you lie to them?”

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Why did you lie to them?” Thatch had just begun to climb down the ladder of the crow’s nest when he heard Serpent speak. The words froze Thatch where he was. A pause followed, and it was because Thatch was still that he was able to hear Ace’s quiet reply.

            “Because they deserve better than the truth.”

            Thatch remained on the ladder for a moment, but no further conversation followed, or, if it did, it was too quiet to hear. He climbed down the ladder with furrowed brows. _What was a lie and what was truth? Was any of it true?_ He crossed the deck, mind crowded with unanswerable questions. _If Ace is lying…how can we trust him? Why would he lie in the first place?_ Thatch walked, still on autopilot, into the kitchen to begin making preparations for dinner.

 

* * *

 

Ace pinched the bridge of his nose. This had been going on for a good half-hour now and showed no signs of stopping. Selma and Joshua had been arguing religion all through dinner, and for some reason found it necessary to speak in overly loud voices even though they were right next to each other. Joshua was strictly catholic, but Selma was a hard assed scientific. She believed in evolution and all that, while Joshua supported creationism. They had been going back and forth on the presence or lack of a god and it had gotten nowhere. They were really almost shouting now. Selma turned to Ace suddenly.

            “What do you think? Is there some gigantic, random man in the sky who just decided ‘Hey. I think I’ll create a universe today!’” Joshua turned to her in frustration.

            “You don’t get it at all! It’s all part of His plan! And He’s not just some random guy! He’s _God!_ ” Ace sighed.

            “If I offer my opinion, will you both just shut up?” They nodded eagerly. A second vote in either direction would end the discussion. “Looking at it mathematically, the probability of our universe even existing is unbelievably small. Then, you throw in the factors necessary for life, the probability of stars creating all the necessary heavy elements, the chance that humans survived evolution despite many disadvantages, and the continued existence of our universe, the odds become almost astronomically small that anything like earth or humanity could exist simply by chance. That said, if there is a god, he’s not some loving, liberating, all-powerful Christian God. Or if He is, He abandoned this world long ago.” Ace’s voice had taken on a darker tone. Joshua looked at him, appalled.

            “But He _is_ there! He cares about all of us!” Ace looked into his eyes.

            “Then why is there conflict? Why is there crime? Why do bad things happen to good people?” Joshua had no response. Selma looked at him smugly.

            “That’s what I’ve been trying to say this _whole time_. Why don’t we dump your Captain Catholic ass in a rowboat and leave you out on the sea and God can keep you company?” Ace looked between the two.

            “Alright. I cast my vote, now could the two of you please let me eat my meal in peace?” They both laughed and left Ace, joking and talking as though there had never been any conflict between the two. Ace just shook his head and resumed eating, smiling slightly.

 

* * *

 

It was late. It was _really_ late. Marco was dragging his ass down to the galley to get some more coffee before starting on his next round of never-ending work. He gave a massive yawn. Oh what he wouldn’t give to be anyone else on the crew right now. He was working his ass of while those lazy morons were in bed. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly the most charitable of thoughts, but still. He walked into the galley and it took him a moment to realize there was a light already in there. He squinted his eyes and blinked at it blearily.

            Waking up a little more, Marco realized it was Ace sitting at one of the tables, a lantern sitting next to him on the table’s surface. He was slouched over, his back to Marco. Marco approached slowly, not wanting to startle him but not wanting to wake him up if he was sleeping. Ace mumbled to himself and sat up, lifting a bottle and drinking some of whatever was in it. It looked like alcohol. _Is Ace drunk?_ It was very rare that Ace got anywhere near liquor. He described it as a ‘deadly poison that only led to bad choices and worse outcomes.’

            “Ace…?” Ace didn’t seem to react, and only slouched down over the table again. Marco was now close enough to identify the bottle. It _was_ some kind of alcohol, and judging by the smell, damn strong too. “Ace…what are you doing?” Marco was standing to Ace’s right. Ace seemed to finally notice Marco and turned his head to look up at the blonde.

            “H’llo Marco.” Ace’s voice came out thick and slightly slurred. _He’s really drunk._ As long as Marco had known Ace, he’d never seen him like this before. Even on the few occasions that Ace had ingested alcohol, no matter what he had his speech had never been indistinct like this. Ace took another swallow from the bottle. Marco looked at him worriedly.

            “I think you should give me that bottle, Ace.” Ace shook his head slowly from side to side, and seemed to grow dizzy, almost falling, but grabbed on to the table before he did. He raised the bottle in his fist, holding it up to the light. It was about three quarters empty.

            “Gotta finish this. Not gonna have any more fuckin’ nightmares.” Marco stared at Ace in shock. Ace drank from the bottle again. He began to laugh, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was broken, almost hysterical. “The Hatter’s still smiling, drinkin’ his bloody tea. But his teeth ‘r black now, rotted out by mirror-sweet time. He’s tainted now. Stained. Stained, stained, stained, stained, _stained_. The god damned rabbit’s gonna kill us all. Nun o’ you know. He’s gonna eat you up like candy. Thatch too. Fuckin’ said so. But the blud won’ show up on that perfect white fur, never one god damned spot. And he’s never late.” Ace stopped laughing, and looked at Marco with a serious, deeply worried face.

            “Sumthin’s breaking, Marco. Sumthin’ important. What’s breaking?” Ace’s eyes roamed the room, searching for the answer. Marco was beginning to grow mildly afraid. Ace was drunk, yes, beyond anything Marco had seen of him before. But this was different. Ace was beginning to look frightened too, his search for the breaking thing growing more and more desperate. Marco had to calm him before he grew hysterical.

            “Nothing’s breaking, Ace. Everything’s fine.” Ace turned to look at Marco, looking like nothing so much as a lost child, but after Marco finished speaking seemed to settle down again. He nodded slowly, accepting what Marco had said as truth.

            “Now, why don’t you give me that and we’ll get you to your room where you can sleep this off, okay?” Again, Ace nodded at Marco, looking alone and lost, but accepting Marco’s lead. Ace handed him the bottle and Marco put it on another table in favor of helping Ace stand.

            It took them quite a while to walk to Ace’s room. Ace’s balance had been completely ruined by the alcohol and he had to stop every now and again as he would have violent dizzy spells. Marco helped him in whatever ways he could and once they were in Ace’s room, helped Ace take off his boots and hat before getting him settled in bed. Ace seemed to have passed out at some point, but Marco supposed this was better because at least he wouldn’t have to worry about Ace getting up in the night. Marco took one last long look at Ace, wondering what could have driven him to this. Ace was dead to the world and his unconscious face wasn’t exactly giving out free answers. Marco sighed and turned to leave.

            When Ace’s hand wrapped around Marco’s wrist, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to look down at Ace in surprise. Ace looked up at him drowsily, seemingly about to drift off again at any moment.

            “You’re dancing with monsters, Marco. And only the Cheshire Cat will be smiling in the end.”

 

* * *

 

Ace opened his eyes. Light stabbed through his eyeballs and beat on his brain with a metal stick. Ace shut them again with a groan. _Okay, bad idea._ Ace, keeping his eyes closed, tried to sit up. He instantly felt lightheaded and nauseous. _Okay, double bad idea_. He settled for just laying on his back, eyes shut and head pounding like a parade of base drums. _What happened to me? I was…I was in the galley. Okay. Good start. Marco showed up at some point, but that’s hazy at best. I was drinking something obviously._ Ace thought for a few minutes more, trying to reconstruct what happened to him last night. He groaned. All this thinking was just making his head feel worse.

            Ace slowly ventured an attempt at opening his eyes again and found that he could, indeed, see. He sat up and reached a hand up to rub his aching forehead. He moved slowly, so as not to disturb his protesting head any further, and put his feet on the floor, throwing on his untied boots and tossing his hat on his head. The hat was nice, it shaded his eyes a little. The boots were not so nice. It took Ace much longer than it should have to tie them properly, but after maybe 15 minutes of struggling he managed it. He stood carefully and turned to look at himself in the mirror. Despite feeling terrible, he actually didn’t look that bad. He had finally gotten a legitimate amount of sleep, and the circles under his eyes had faded somewhat. He glanced out the window and was surprised to see the sun already high in the sky. Ace guessed it was around eleven o’clock if not noon. Ace walked over to the window and looked down at the assortment of plants growing on the sill. He rummaged through the plants for a while until he came up with a small, scrappy-looking shrub about 4 inches tall. It had densely packed leaves and branches, and among the branches many bright red berries could be seen. Ace plucked three. They were small and perfectly round. He popped them in his mouth and swallowed before the bitter taste could catch up. Almost instantly he felt his headache fade to a much more bearable throb in the back of his skull. He smiled slightly and turned to head out the door and face the day.

            Out on deck, everyone seemed to be busy, moving quickly on deck, tying off lines and adjusting sails. Ace looked around in confusion, blinking intelligently. Thatch saw him and approached.

            “Hey! Where’ve you been this morning? I haven’t seen you at all yet today, and the day’s almost half over!” As Thatch spoke, Ace noticed something different about him. The smile was still present and as warm as ever, but something in Thatch’s eyes had changed. Something was a little more distant. Ace was confused, but shook it off in favor of finding out what was going on.

            “What’s got everyone so excited? I haven’t seen them move this fast since we were trying to escape the last big cyclone.” Thatch blinked at Ace incredulously.

            “How can you not know this? We’re approaching an island. Navigation says it’s uninhabited, but even so, the crew is excited to be on land again. The island was apparently abandoned centuries ago, and I’ll bet there’s some pretty interesting ruins there, if not some kind of ancient treasure!” Ace’s eyes showed interest when Thatch had mentioned ruins, and Thatch smirked. “I’m assuming that look means I can count you in as far as exploring goes, right?” Ace grinned at Thatch cheekily.

            “Damn straight.”

 

* * *

 

When Marco saw Ace appear on deck shortly before their arrival at the island, his first thought was of asking Ace about what he had said last night. Having seen the amount of alcohol Ace had consumed, though, he highly doubted Ace really remembered any of it anyway. Marco had sighed. What Ace had said last night hadn’t made much sense. It could have been that Ace was just drunk, and the alcohol had made him delusional or paranoid, but Ace’s words had stuck with Marco nonetheless. Ace had truly unnerved Marco last night, and if there was some kind of mad truth in what Ace had said, Marco needed to know.

            “ _You’re dancing with monsters, Marco.”_ Ace’s words from last night still echoed in his head. _“And only the Cheshire Cat will be smiling_ in _the end.”_ Marco looked up at the approaching island, a hint of trepidation corrupting his excitement.

            _“The rabbit’s gonna kill us all.”_ What rabbit? Was it literal or figurative? Or was it untrue entirely?

            _“Somethin’s breaking, Marco. Somethin’ important.”_ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Marco could tell all of this was important, but he just couldn’t put it all together. He didn’t have all the pieces. But he had to figure it out. He instinctively knew there was some kind of time limit here, like a lit fuse. _“The god damned rabbit’s gonna kill us all…_

_“And he’s never late.”_


	7. Chapter 7

Marco had a goddamned headache. This was…beyond annoyance. Beyond anything contained in the definition of annoyance, frustration, or any other of those crude, weak feelings. Marco was feeling something much, _much_ deeper. He had gotten absolutely _no_ sleep last night, and now here he was. Having to mediate useless arguments while simultaneously filling out paperwork that was due _three hours ago_. Marco clenched his jaw in annoyance, feeling the headache stepping up a notch. Between lack of sleep, lack of breakfast (he had been busy and unable to eat this morning), too much stress, and this _thrice damned headache_ he was in the very foulest of moods. He glared at the two currently arguing crewmembers with a vengeance. He had absolutely _no_ patience left and these two…these two _imbeciles_ were in here shouting in Marco’s ears because it was apparently _his_ problem that they were both acting like three-year-olds and couldn’t make a simple decision on their own.

            “I don’t give a shit _which_ of you stays to watch the boats when we land, but if this little _debate_ of yours isn’t concluded in the next three seconds, I am personally going to dump both your asses in a marine base to rot for the next eternity, _got it_?” The two regarded Marco with some fright, nodded vigorously, and quickly left him to his own devices. Marco gave an annoyed sigh- almost a growl- gripping his pen almost to the point of breaking it and began filling out papers faster than one would think humanly possible. Today was just _not_ going well.

 

Ace walked slowly down the hallway. His mind was running in circles, and he still hadn’t found a good solution. Should he tell them? If it was a matter of the safety of the crew he knew he really should tell Marco or Whitebeard, but that would mean telling _all_ of it. Ace wasn’t sure if he could. He sighed, heart constricting painfully in his chest with memories. _“Who should it be? Marco, or Thatch?”_ Hare’s voice echoed with mocking menace inside his head.That was it. They had to know.

            Ace walked with purpose now, his shoulders squared. His mind, though, was now just a blank slate and an ugly tangle of emotions. What should he say? This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you just walk up and tell someone. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed into Marco’s room. Marco was at his desk as usual, pen fairly flying over the paper. Ace approached him slowly, unsure.

            “Marco…I need to talk to you about something.” Ace didn’t look at him, and his voice was a mess of raw grief, guilt, sorrow, and pain. Marco failed to hear the emotion, and merely twitched in annoyance, his grip on the pen tightening imperceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was cold and more than a little angry.

            “I’m kind of _busy_ right now, Ace. Can it _wait?"_  Ace glanced up at Marco.

            “But it’s really important-“ Marco turned to look at him, patience at an end.

            “I _said_ I’m _busy_. Now if you’ll please excuse me.” Ace stared at Marco for a moment before quickly blinking the shock and betrayal from his face. He looked down, nodding weakly. He felt any hope take up new residence at the bottom of his stomach where it lay in shattered pieces. Of course there were more important things. Marco was busy with the running of the ship, and Ace had been a fool to think he had the time to just sit down with Ace and talk. He shoved the sadness down and faked a smile. He knew it was weak at best, but Marco had already turned back around, away from Ace.

            “Alright. I’ll…catch you later, then.” He turned and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He leaned back against it, forcing back the haze of memories and the pain of Marco’s unwitting betrayal. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to try to look on the bright side, and in the end was able to put on a smile before walking out on deck. At the very least, the island they would be landing at would be interesting. Thatch had mentioned ruins, so maybe there would be something to take his mind off what a big mess his life had become over the last few weeks.

 

* * *

 

Ace stared at the fast-approaching island. It looked like it was mostly jungle with a small mountain rising on one side. It was a summer island and as the ship grew nearer you could feel the humidity increasing by the moment. The island seemed to shimmer with heat, the green leaves bright and lush. The crew anchored the Moby Dick a ways off shore in favor of taking the smaller and easier to maneuver lifeboats to the island itself.

 

* * *

 

Landing the boats had been easy. The shore was made of soft, dark sand so it was just a matter of pulling the boats up a ways on the beach to ensure they wouldn’t be swept out to sea with the changing tides. Ace scanned the outskirts of the jungle with interest, peering as far as he could through the dense undergrowth. His darker emotions had faded in favor of genuine interest and excitement. It seemed as though this island really would hold something worth seeing. Ace waited impatiently on the beach. Thatch hadn’t landed yet, and he and Ace had agreed on exploring together.

            As Thatch’s boat landed, Ace turned and helped pull it up onto the beach. Thatch came around from the other side and stood next to Ace, who had resumed his observation of the jungle. Thatch almost laughed at Ace. He was like a kid at Christmas. If you so much as mentioned anything old, long dead, or unknown to Ace, he was all over it. No doubt he’d been on the edge of his seat the entire way over.

            “Well someone certainly looks excited.” Thatch said it with a smirk, and Ace turned to look at him with a huge grin on his face.

            “See those stones, covered in vine, next to that fallen palm tree?” Ace was pointing at them, giddy with excitement. “They’re too uniform to be natural, which means there really _were_ people here. If I had to guess, it was probably some kind of lookout station. Or maybe a lighthouse! No, there aren’t enough of them to make a high enough tower.” He thought deeply for a moment. “They look really ornate. Maybe they used to be some kind of altar to a sea deity…?” Ace practically jumped with excitement and pointed to an area where the trees were a little shorter. Honestly, no one else would have even noticed the difference.

            “And look there, where the trees are stunted? I bet that used to be a road. The stones must still be under the soil, and that’s what’s stunting the tree’s growth in that area.” Thatch looked at Ace with amusement.

            “If it’s a road then let’s follow it.” Ace turned to look at Thatch with wide eyes.

            “I wonder if they had some kind of city! There must have been a village at least, and this island has enough natural resources to support a larger community. I wonder what kind of technological advancements they had. Based on that altar they knew how to carve stone well but-“ Ace continued speaking at a mile a minute and Thatch semi-tuned him out. Honestly, Ace would be like this the entire time they were at the island or until he figured out everything there was to know about whatever people had lived here. Thatch led the way down the old road and Ace would stop every few minutes to examine something or take down notes. Thatch would smile and roll his eyes, stopping long enough to let Ace finish what he was working on.

            After working their way through the stiflingly hot jungle for a little over an hour, they found something big. A large tablet stuck out of the ground, rectangular in shape, and covered with some kind of old writing. Upon seeing it, Ace stopped dead in his tracks, and Thatch, now behind him, bumped into him before noticing he had stopped.

            “What is i-Oh. That’s interesting.” Ace was staring at it in wonder and approached it with something akin to reverence. He stared at it for a moment, half-raising his hand towards the tablet, inspecting it closely. Then he sat. Just sat. Right where he was. In the dirt. Like his legs could no longer support him. He continued to stare up at the stone, face filled with shock, eyes widened quite a bit.

            “Thatch…this is a huge discovery. I mean- this is- I can’t believe-…” He trailed off. Thatch looked between Ace and the rock.

            “Can you read the characters?”

            “Yeah, but…Thatch…these are the same characters as the ones on the poneglyphs.” Even Thatch’s eyes showed shock at that. I mean, holy shit. This tablet wasn’t a poneglyph, but if the society that lived here created this, it was possible that they were also the ones who created the poneglyphs.

Ace’s notebook and pen were out in seconds, and he stood, approaching the stone and beginning to read it. His face was serious now. The gravity of the discovery had put Ace into work-mode and he was translating with a vengeance, scribbling down words as fast as he could. His eyes remained fixed on the tablet the entire time, and the translation began to fill multiple pages of Ace’s book. Thatch didn’t dare disturb him when he was like this. There was a kind of…aura that surrounded Ace when he really focused like this. After about four minutes of silence, Ace cocked his head, confusion on his face.

“Wha…” His right hand reached up and traced one of the characters, about halfway down the tablet. This particular character had been engraved over what looked like an artistic handprint.

“What is it, Ace?” Thatch asked. Ace didn’t turn to look at him, but spoke to him in a distracted, confused voice.

“It’s this character…I’ve never seen one like it. It’s been almost…elevated. Like it were really important. But I’m not sure exactly what it means.” Ace’s brows furrowed. “It almost looks like several characters combined.” He traced some of the lines with a fingertip. “This is the character for time.” He traced some other lines which overlapped them. “This is the character for gift, or offering.” His hand ghosted over the remaining lines of the character. “And this is the character for 10.” He looked stumped for a moment, then hesitantly reached up his hand and placed it over the handprint, palm touching the character. He made a little sound of surprise and pulled his hand back, turning to look at it. The pad of his forefinger had been pricked, and a small bead of blood was forming on it. _Oh shit._ Ace spoke in calm tones.

“Thatch, I think I triggered something. I want you to walk away slowly and tell me when you’re a safe distance away.” Thatch looked at Ace with concern, but did as he asked.

“Alright, I’m clear!”

“Good. Now, I’m going to turn around and walk towards you. Keep your eyes on the stone. If _anything_ changes, let me know immediately.” Ace turned around slowly and began walking away from the old stone. Thatch kept his eyes focused on it, watching for even the slightest alteration. He could see the drop of Ace’s blood on the stone, and it began to slide down the handprint, but other than that, everything was still. Ace was maybe eight steps away when his blood touched the character. He doubled over instantly and there was a flash of white light.

 

Thatch sat up, rubbing his head. His ears were ringing and he had to blink several times before he could see anything. He looked at his surroundings, at first confused as to why he was in a jungle, but his memory returned to him a moment later. _God damn it!_ He stood up as fast as he could.

“Ace! Ace, where are you?!” He was shouting, and he turned his head, looking around desperately. _Don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead you can’t be dead._ He looked all around the clearing, filling with panic, but there was no Ace. He was just…gone. Thatch continued to search, hope waning. He explored the nearby forest, thinking maybe Ace had been blown back by whatever had knocked Thatch over, but there was no sign of his friend. He returned to the clearing, desperately trying to convince himself that Ace was alive and unharmed. _Oh, God. I’m so sorry for doubting you. You can’t be dead, I haven’t apologized. Please don’t let something like this ruin everything. If anyone out there can hear me, let this be enough, don’t let him die…_ Thatch’s eyes surveyed the clearing, feeling despair and loss rising in him like a black tide.

His eyes froze when they reached the tablet. Lying at its base was a child, maybe ten years old. He had raven black hair and was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants. He seemed to be regaining consciousness and sat up, rubbing his head. Thatch looked at him in confusion. _Where did this kid come from? It’s not like there’s anyone living on the island…Could he somehow be related to the stone? If that’s true he might know what happened to Ace!_ Thatch approached him slowly.

“Who are you? Are you lost?” Thatch spoke gently, not wanting to frighten the child, whoever he was. The boy turned to look at Thatch and Thatch froze. Dark hazel-grey eyes stared out of a freckled face and looked at him with trepidation.

“Who the hell are you? Where am I?” Thatch stared at this child. There was no way. There was no fucking way this was possible.

“…Ace?” Ace stared up at this stranger’s face.

“How do you know my name? Where the hell am I?” Thatch stared down at him in open shock. How the hell was he going to explain this one? _Yeah, we were just walking around and found something from the Void Century that technically shouldn’t exist. Ace touched it and now he’s magically 10 years old again and apparently his memory’s been reset to that time too._ Yeah. That’ll go over _real_ well with Marco and Oyaji.

His eyes refocused on Ace. The boy seemed to be contemplating an escape attempt. Thatch had to get him back to the ship. Younger he may be, but he was still family and maybe someone else would know how to undo this. Thatch lifted his hand towards Ace, meaning to lead him back towards the ship. Ace flinched back and looked suspiciously between Thatch’s face and outstretched hand. Thatch was a little surprised at the reaction, but didn’t ask. He spoke gently, trying not to spook this younger Ace.

“Come on, Ace. It’s not safe in the jungle. I’m going to take you somewhere safer.” Ace stood, but didn’t take the proffered hand. His feet were in a fairly wide stance, perfect for running or hand-to-hand combat. His eyes were locked on Thatch’s, regarding him with suspicion.

“Where are you trying to take me?” Thatch raised both hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m just going to take you back to the ship. There are people there who will take care of you.” At this Ace’s eyes narrowed.  Inside, Thatch winced. This was apparently not the best thing to say.

“Marine or pirate?” Thatch blinked. This was unexpected. Thatch mentally panicked. Should he lie? This Ace was extremely cautious. A government agent might be seen as more trustworthy, but if Ace thought he was lying he might take off anyway.

“I’m a pirate.” Ace seemed to relax slightly. Thatch heaved a mental sigh of relief. It had been a gamble, but it seemed Thatch had got lucky.

“You’re not part of Shanks’ crew. Who are you?” Thatch was a little surprised to hear that Ace knew Red Haired Shanks, but then he remembered Ace mentioning him as a friend growing up. Again, Thatch decided to go with honesty.

“My name is Thatch. I’m the fourth division commander of the Whitebeard pirates.” Ace’s eyes widened slightly. He looked conflicted.

“Shanks mentioned Whitebeard a few times…” He seemed to be more speaking to himself than Thatch. Ace regarded Thatch for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“All right. I’m coming.”

 

* * *

 

Ace was studying his surroundings carefully. A million questions ran through his head, and he had answers to none of them. _Where am I? How did I get here? Where’re Shanks and the guys? Is this guy really a Whitebeard pirate? He has the tattoo, but anyone can fake that. Should I have followed him?_ They came into a sudden clearing, and the light momentarily dazzled Ace. When his vision cleared, he saw a beautiful scene before him so picturesque it felt more like an artist’s fantasy brought to life in oil paint than reality.

The sun was warm on his face and body, the leaves shone a million different shades of yellow and green. Flowers of all colors danced like women in bright dresses in the mild breeze that wound through the skylight. Beyond, the forest shone deeper emerald, the shadows were as quiet nymphs, making their way between the trees as the sun’s light dappled the forest floor with ambers and rich mahoganies. Bees hummed by the flowers, and the quiet rustling of the wind through the leafy boughs finished the scene with a symphony of light swishes and sighs. Ace closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and the wind and the sounds. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, and could smell each of the flower’s unique sweetness, as well as the simple dark earth and rich depth of growing things. A soft smile graced Ace’s mouth. _I’m alive again. Truly. This is what it means to live._

Opening his eyes, he looked around the clearing and seemed to notice Thatch for the first time. Thatch was regarding Ace curiously, like he didn’t know quite what to make of Ace’s behavior. Ace allowed the smile to fade and shook himself gently.

“Sorry for the delay. Let’s continue.” Thatch had cocked his head, but didn’t protest. The two continued their shoreward progress in silence for a few minutes before Ace spoke.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier.” Thatch looked at him in confusion. Ace looked up at him without emotion. “Where are we?” Thatch looked at Ace in surprise before rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.” Ace regarded him with something bordering on concern.

“Try me.”

“Well…we’re on a small island on the Grand Line.” Ace openly blanched before shaking his head, confusion written on his face.

“That’s…That’s not possible. I was in East Blue this morning.” Ace winced as he stumbled over a root, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. _Damn but that hurt._ He glanced up at Thatch, trying hard not to limp. He didn’t let his pain show on his face, keeping his expression placid. _I don’t know if he can be trusted yet. Any weakness has the possibility of exploitation, and until I know who I can trust, if anyone, I can’t expose any weakness._ Ace glanced down at his leg. _I hope I didn’t just re-break that. Or fracture it or whatever._ He stopped looking at the leg to glance up at the sky and clouds. He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. _I suppose I can always reset it if I have to, but that’s not exactly fun. It’s alright though. I’m alive. I can still walk, run if I have to. All that matters is I’m out. Out of hell._ He glanced at Thatch.

_And I’m never going back._


	8. Chapter 8

They were nearing the beach now. Ace could tell. The ground was growing softer, sandier. The inland trees were fading out and being replaced by their shore-dwelling fellows. Ace dragged his left hand against a wide-leafed plant, feeling the smooth, waxy texture sliding past under his fingers. Several drops of water had condensed on the leaf, and when Ace pulled his hand away it was a little wet. Ahead of him, Thatch stopped and turned to face him. Ace looked up at him in mild confusion.

            “Why are we stopping? The beach is right there.” Thatch was looking at him, biting his lip. _How the hell am I supposed to get him on the ship without the crew freaking out? I need to talk with Marco and Oyaji before they all see him like this. Gah…if only Ace were grown up…he’d know what to do._ Thatch looked at little Ace closely. _Maybe he still does at this age. Older Ace is a genius at stealth plans, why can't his younger self be the same?_

            “Listen…I need to sneak you onto the ship without anyone seeing you. We have to talk to my captain before the crew meet you, but the only way back are the boats which are on the beach and guarded. I’m just trying to figure out a way to get you to the ship without making a big scene.” Ace looked a little suspicious, but he didn’t protest, and Thatch could almost see the gears in his head spinning. Ace considered the problem. He looked Thatch up and down.

            “…Do you have any extra fabric?” Thatch looked at him in confusion.

            “Fabric?” Ace sighed in annoyance.

            “Yes, _fabric_.”

            “Probably not.” Ace looked away, frustration written on his face.

“Dammit.”

“Why? What could you possibly use fabric for?” Ace looked at him like he was the stupidest being to ever walk the earth.

            “You’re the chef, right? If you wrap me up in fabric, you can say I’m some kind of animal you caught in the jungle and are going to cook back on the ship. It explains why you have me and gives you an alibi to get a boat.” Thatch looked down at Ace. Damn the kid was clever. It had taken him less than a minute to come up with that.  Too bad it wouldn’t work. Thatch thought deeply. There had to be something else they could do. He considered the problem for several moments, brows furrowed. Thatch looked around the empty clearing, trying to think of an alternate plan. All that was in the area were rocks, leaves, trees, vines…wait. The clearing was empty.

Oh _shit._

            “Ace?” Thatch looked around frantically. The boy had well and truly vanished. _I’m dead I’m dead I’m so fucking_ dead _._  “Ace!” A large leafy plant rustled nearby.

            “What? I’m over here.” Thatch looked over at the bush, walking up to it hurriedly. He sighed with relief when he saw Ace sitting at its base. _Oh thank god. That could have ended very badly._ He looked down at Ace. Ace was currently knotting several vines together and had tugged one of the immense leaves off of the plant he was sitting near. Thatch looked at Ace confusedly.

            “…What are you doing?” Ace looked up.

            “I’m making a net. Since you don’t have any cloth, you can wrap me in these leaves and carry me in the net. It should work well enough.” Ace tied off the last knot and held up a fairly large, well-woven net similar to one you would use for fishing. Thatch was surprised. Not only was Ace clever, he was apparently capable as well. Then Thatch noticed something.

            “Ace, what happened to your hands?” The center of both Ace’s right and left hands were bound neatly with gauze and medical tape. The bandaging on the right hand was more extensive with the wrappings reaching up to the first joint of each finger. Ace pulled his hands back as if to hide them. He tried to act nonchalant.

            “Nothing. I got a bad rope burn a couple days ago. The skin is still pretty raw so it’s better to keep it wrapped.” Thatch scrutinized Ace for a moment, and Ace met his eyes as evenly as he could, trying not to shrink under the intensity of Thatch’s gaze. Thatch seemed to accept the lie and spoke.

            “We’re probably going to need one or two more leaves to cover you entirely.” Ace nodded and crouched near one of the larger leaves. He flicked back his right wrist and a smaller version of the hidden blade Thatch had seen on the older Ace slid into position. Ace carefully cut off two more leaves. The first he laid at the bottom of the net. It was large enough that if he curled up, it would cover him from underneath.

            “Alright, I need you to lift the sides of the net. Don’t lift the whole thing yet, just the sides. And hand me those two other leaves.” Thatch did as he was asked and Ace positioned them so that when the net was completely lifted he would be in a leafy cocoon of sorts.

            “Alright, ready when you are. Try to keep it brief, it’s going to get hot in here. Oh, and as much as possible, don’t swing me around. I’m not sure if the knots can take that much strain.” Thatch nodded. “Also, I’ll try not to move around too much, but if anyone asks to see what’s inside, you’re going to have to find an excuse for them not to look.” Thatch gave a grunt of consent and lifted the net. He was actually kind of surprised by how little Ace weighed. _Underfed? He said he had to raise himself and Luffy alone, so I can see how that could lead to less food, but even so, he shouldn’t be this light…_

            Thatch carried the bundle across the sand as quickly as he could without drawing attention. Most of the pirates were out in the forest, but even so there was still quite a crowd on the beach. The person currently guarding the boats was a member of 6th division named Leanne. Thatch approached her with a fake smile. Internally he was down on his knees begging for this to work. If Ace was recognized, the pirates on the beach would all come at him at once. Ace was suspicious and a little jumpy. If a crowd of pirates that he didn’t know randomly swarmed him, he’d probably bolt. If that happened Thatch was near certain Ace could outfox them in this forest. But he approached Leanne with false happiness. She had been seated, leaning against one of the boats in a patch of shade, but as Thatch came nearer she stood and stretched her shoulders.

            “Hey there Taichou! How was the island? Got anything interesting on it?” Her eyes landed on the net. “Ooooh! What’s in that? Treasure?” Thatch smirked and shook his head.

            “Actually no. I found this weird animal and thought I’d try to use it in tonight’s dinner.” Leanne looked up at him with wide eyes, curiosity written on her face.

            “What kind of animal is it? Have you ever seen anything like it before?” Thatch knew what her next question was going to be before she asked it. “Can I see it?” He felt a bead of sweat forming on his temple. _Come on…think. What can you say? How do I keep her from opening it?_

“It looks like some kind of large amphibian, you know, like a frog or salamander. It’s bigger than any other amphibian I’ve ever seen, hence my curiosity.” Leanne was walking around him, trying to get at the net on his back. He turned so that he was facing her, keeping her at his front. “I really don’t think you should look at it…” Leanne pouted.

            “Awww but why? I wanna _see_.” Thatch forced the smile back on his face. _Think, think, think, think, think…_

            “Well…I would let you look at it _,_ but I’m a little worried. Some amphibians secrete poison from glands on their skin, and I’m not sure if this thing’s really dead.” Ace, who was apparently listening, twitched inside the casing, causing it to move slightly. Leanne jumped about a foot in the air and withdrew her hand, which had been half-extended towards the net, with a shriek of surprise. Thatch laughed aloud.

            “Well, now that that’s been verified, can I take one of these boats and bring this thing back to the boat?” Leanne didn’t remove her widened eyes from the net as she stepped aside.

            “Sure, but I wouldn’t let Marco see it before it’s dead. And don’t you _dare_ try pulling something like leaving it in his room or something. He’s seriously grumpy today. Snapped at Ace this morning, as well as a few other crewmembers.” She paused for a moment. “Hey, wait a sec. Where is Ace? Didn’t you two head off together this morning?” Thatch momentarily panicked, thinking fast to come up with a serviceable excuse. He forced a dry chuckle.

            “You know how he gets. He found some rock with weird scribbles on it and decided it was vitally important. He’s still out in the forest uncovering everything there is to know about any people that lived here. I got a little bored of staring at old rocks, so I headed off on my own.” Leanne smiled and nodded. They were all well acquainted with Ace’s semi-obsessive stints.  She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing at one of the boats.

            “You should take this one. It’s got some other supplies the crew found today, so it wasn’t going to fit that many people anyway.” She grinned at Thatch. “Good luck cooking up your weird frog-thing!” Thatch faked yet another smile and set Ace as gently as he could into the boat. He pushed the vessel into the water and hopped in to begin making the trip back.

 

* * *

 

Ace stared down at the sparkling water slipping past. Once they were a ways offshore he had climbed out of the net and was now sitting near the edge of the boat staring out at the water. The waters were fairly calm with very small waves. The sun was reflected as a yellow-white medallion against the deep sapphire of the water over the dark sand. Ace allowed the tips of his fingers to trail through the water, feeling the cool, near solid, smooth liquid slide past. The Moby Dick was drawing nearer, and Thatch seemed to be growing a touch restless.

Ace regarded him with a little suspicion. _I still don’t know if I can trust him…He seems nice enough, but it could all be an act. To be human is to have the capability of lying. Everyone who has ever lived has told a lie, and others have gone through their whole lives believing those lies to be true. Kindness itself is often a lie, used to cover dislike or malcontent, but that’s like throwing a blanket over a corpse. You may not see it, but the smell alone is enough. When one’s entire world is burning to the ground, we will do anything to escape it. We will throw others between us and the destruction, going so far as to murder our own kind, so long as the illusion we call control remains with us, deluding us into believing we can somehow keep terrible things from happening, that we can somehow_ change _ourselves and the world, but it’s a lie. It’s all a lie. We have no power over anything. Our worlds melt like wax, dribbling onto the floor to be devoured by broken-necked rats. And soon after, we follow. Clinging to our ‘control’ like a mother to her infant. Except the baby is dead. Or is it that it never existed at all? This world is built on lies and madness. Everything else can be broken like glass or bones. Glass or bones. And then the madness is all that’s left._

“-ce? Ace? Can you hear me?” Thatch’s voice pierced through the fog of Ace’s thoughts, and he pulled himself out of his mind’s restless wanderings. He shook his head briefly to clear it and turned to look up at Thatch.

“Yeah. I can hear you.” Thatch was looking at him with mild concern.

“You kind of zoned-out there. You didn’t respond when I spoke to you.” He looked closer at Ace. “Are you alright?” Ace nodded,

“M’fine.” He turned to look back out at sea and found they were much closer to the Moby Dick. They would probably reach it within the next five minutes. Ace looked back to Thatch. He was holding up a coat. Well, it was more like a cloak. Ace looked between the cloak and Thatch. Thatch held the object out towards Ace.

“Do you mind wearing this? Just until we meet my captain.” Ace looked at Thatch evenly.

“I have a question for you first.” Thatch blinked.

“Alright. Fire away.” Ace looked at Thatch seriously.

“Back when we were on the beach, that woman spoke of you knowing someone named Ace. Who is it?” Thatch swallowed. He had hoped Ace had missed that part of the conversation.

“We…have another person on the crew named Ace. He’s in Second Division. He and I are good friends. Does that help?”

“It doesn’t explain how you knew my name even though I’m sure we’ve never met before.” Ace’s eyes were boring into Thatch’s, searching for answers. Thatch met his eyes and felt a tinge of fear. There was something in Ace’s eyes, a hardness born of desperation. Thatch had never seen it in older Ace’s eyes, and seeing it in this child…It was unsettling, unnatural. No 10-year-old should know desperation like that. Thatch felt a kind of sadness, and a need to comfort this child before him. Before he could even think about it, he found himself reaching out towards Ace. He spoke tenderly.

“What happened to you?” Ace jerked back as though stung and batted aside Thatch’s hand. Turning away, he replied evenly.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Ace reached out and took the cloak, fastening it about his shoulders and pulling the hood up to hide his face. Thatch continued to study Ace. He was unsure what had just come over him, but he felt he had been on to something. Ace was hiding something.

 

* * *

 

Getting onboard the Moby Dick had been relatively easy. Very few people had remained on the ship during the day, so the deck was empty for once. Thatch led the way across the deck towards Oyaji’s cabin, and as they went Ace looked about with wide eyes. Outside the door, Thatch hesitated. _Okay, great. What the hell am I supposed to say?_ Ace was looking up at him, confused.

            “Is this the door to Whitebeard’s room?” Thatch nodded distractedly. “Then why are we standing out here? Let’s go in.” Thatch looked at him in surprise.

            “No wait, don’t-“ But Ace had already opened the door and pulled Thatch through. Both Whitebeard and Marco were in there, discussing something. Upon their entry both looked up in mild surprise. Thatch stood there, eyes wide, looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights. Thank goodness Ace had at least kept on the cloak and his face remained hidden for now. If Thatch wanted to avoid utter chaos he’d have to ease Marco and Oyaji into the fact that Ace had been reduced to half his age. Marco seemed to have sensed something was off, and was studying the cloaked Ace closely. Oyaji looked curious, and had one eyebrow raised. Thatch’s mind was completely blank. He had absolutely no idea what to say. Marco was the first to speak.

            “Thatch…who is this? Where did you manage to pick up a kid on an abandoned island?” Marco gestured to Ace loosely, his voice sounding resigned to whatever complications Thatch’s latest escapades were going to lead to. Thatch stuttered.

            “Well y’see…this kid is-“ Ace crossed his arms in annoyance.

            “I have a _name_ you know.” Whitebeard looked down at him kindly, a warm, parental smile spreading on his face.

            “What is it, child?” And before Thatch could stop him, Ace pulled off his hood.

            “It’s Ace. Portgas D. Ace.” The room froze. Whitebeard’s eyes widened. Marco’s jaw was somewhere in Kentucky. Thatch choked. The moon exploded.

 

The room was silent for over a minute, the smile still plastered on Whitebeard’s face. Marco’s eyes were wide. Thatch was frozen where he stood. _Please, dear Lord, don’t let them kill me. Please. Just let me live. That’s all that I ask._

Whitebeard was the first to recover enough to speak. He turned his face, still smiling, but no longer warmly, towards the fourth division commander.

            “… _Thatch_.” Thatch shrunk in on himself, wincing. He knew that tone. He was in trouble. _Big_ trouble.


	9. Chapter 9

Thatch tried to melt into the floorboards. It wasn’t working. Marco was making his “you-are-in- _such-_ deep-shit” face, and Whitebeard was still smiling in that hard, not happy way that only parents can really produce. Ace was looking between them in confusion.

            “What? What’s the matter?” Marco turned away from Thatch to look at Ace. He put on a friendly smile. He came up to Ace and began herding him out of the room.

            “Nothing. Oyaji just needs to have a nice little chat with Thatch. While he’s doing that, why don’t we find you something to eat?” He finished shooing Ace out of the room and turned to give Thatch one last semi-glare. Marco shut the door behind himself, leaving Thatch alone with Whitebeard. Whitebeard folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Thatch.

            “So. Why don’t you tell me how this managed to happen.” Thatch tried to melt into the floor again. It still wasn’t working.

 

* * *

 

 

Ace found himself seated at one of the tables in the galley. Marco sat across from him, and in front of him was a bowl of soup. It was some kind of beef stew, and it really was delicious. Marco was studying him unobtrusively. After several moments of silence, Marco spoke.

            “How did you get here?” Ace looked up.

            “I…I don’t know. I was in East Blue this morning, on the East Wind,” _Dammit, shouldn’t have said that._ “When suddenly I saw a bright flash of light and I wake up next to some stone tablet with Thatch speaking to me.” Marco blinked.

            “The East Wind? Isn’t that Red Haired Shanks’ ship?” Ace nodded mutely. “What were you doing there?” Ace didn’t reply. Marco was curious, but didn’t press the matter. Ace finally looked up again.

            “Where are we exactly? Thatch said we were in the Grand Line, but then how did I end up here?” Marco’s brows furrowed.

            “We are on the Grand Line, a ways from Shabondy Archipelago. As to how you got here, I don’t really know.”

 

* * *

 

Back in Whitebeard’s cabin, Thatch had finished his story. Whitebeard was looking down at him, deep in thought. After several moments of silence Whitebeard spoke.

            “And you say he doesn’t remember anything?” Thatch nodded. Whitebeard thought for another moment. “What if we brought him back to the tablet and had him touch it again?” Thatch seemed to consider it for a moment, then spoke.

            “I don’t think that’d be a good idea. For all we know it could shrink him another ten years and then we’d have a _baby_ Ace on our hands, and I don’t think that’d be an improvement.” Whitebeard nodded and spoke in a calm voice.

            “We have to tell the crew. If they see him before they know, they could act hastily. In his current state Ace doesn’t know them, so he could misinterpret their actions.” Whitebeard rubbed his face thoughtfully. “I’ll send Marco to the shore. Most of the crew is there, so he can alert them to the situation. The news should spread on its own, but could you tell the people still on the ship what’s going on? Until the whole crew knows what’s happening, I think it’d be best if we kept Ace out of sight. By dinner, everybody should be aware of the situation, so I think it’ll be fine to introduce him then.” Thatch nodded. “Also, make sure to tell them to act as if they don’t know Ace.” Thatch looked at Whitebeard in confusion.

            “But why?” Whitebeard’s face and voice didn’t change.

            “The poor child is already confused enough, do you really want to make it worse? He might panic and run.” Thatch considered it, then nodded.

            “Alright. I’ll head off to tell Marco what’s going on. Do you want me to send him in here?” Whitebeard nodded. Thatch headed off towards the door.

            “Wait just a moment, Thatch.” Thatch stopped and turned around. Whitebeard looked him in the eye and smiled. “You’re on dish duty for the next eight months. Every day. I thought I should let you know before you headed into the kitchen.” Thatch wilted. He thought he had gotten away free and clear.

            “Yes Oyaji.”

 

* * *

 

“Your devil fruit ability is useful, yes, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s impregnable.” Marco quirked an eyebrow.

            “Oh really? And how do you figure that?” Ace leaned forward smugly.

            “Seastone can still hurt you. Even one counterexample disproves a statement.”

            “But I can recover instantly.”

            “Only if the seastone is removed. Suppose someone were able to make seastone bullets. You’d be like a turkey on thanksgiving. Or suppose someone made knives or swords with seastone and you were stabbed. As long as the weapon wasn’t removed, you’d be nearly powerless. That’s a rather gaping weakness, wouldn’t you say?”

            “Seastone is rare and expensive. There aren’t exactly hordes of people armed with seastone weapons out there.”

            “But we’re talking about the world government. They can just commandeer stuff. And with a bounty like yours, hunters would pay the cash because your bounty would compensate them and they’d still make a large net profit.” Marco raised an amused eyebrow.

            “So you’re saying my devil fruit isn’t useful?”

            “No, it’s plenty useful, it’s just imperfect. It’s beyond helpful in a myriad of situations, it’s just that you should prepare for the ones where it’s not. You have to _think_ Marco.” Ace was gesturing now to emphasize his point. “If one marine happens to have a seastone weapon or a weird devil fruit and catches you off guard, you’re screwed.” Marco huffed indignantly.

            “As if some pansy-“ Ace cut him off.

            “And suppose he didn’t kill you. Then you’d have a hostage situation and your whole crew is at risk. I haven’t known you guys for very long, but your captain at least seems like he’d be more than willing to sacrifice himself for even one of you guys. Would you really want there to even be the remotest chance of that happening?” Marco was looking at Ace seriously now. “You should at least train yourself in other kinds of combat, hand-to-hand, swordplay, knife fighting. Even a basic understanding could be enough to save one of your friend’s lives. I can’t make the choice for you, but if I were in your shoes that’s what I would do.” Ace’s eyes grew dark. “Nothing in this entire world is worse than helplessness.” Marco looked at Ace in concern and opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did, Thatch walked in. Both turned to look up at him. Thatch stopped and looked between the two.

            “…I just interrupted something important, didn’t I?” Thatch asked. Marco laughed.

            “Not really. What’s up?” Thatch hesitated for another moment before speaking.

            “Oyaji wants to see you.” He turned to Ace. “And he wants me to show you around the ship. Is that alright with you?” Ace nodded and stood, following Thatch out of the galley.

 

* * *

 

 _Damn this ship is big._ Ace was looking around in mild awe. The ‘tour’ had been going on for about 10 minutes and they hadn’t seen half of it. They were currently walking down one of the innumerable hallways, Thatch telling a story about something or other. Ace wasn’t really paying attention to the story, instead studying every detail of the ship.           

            The wood was well maintained, if somewhat worn from constant use. It was obvious there had been repairs made over the years, but the ship’s mighty image hadn’t suffered for it. It was like an ancient whale, it had survived the years and the battles and emerged victorious, the scars boons of honor for which it was respected. Ace stopped when he noticed something odd. He walked closer to one of the boards on the wall, studying it closely. Thatch noticed and stopped himself, approaching Ace from behind.

            “What is it?” Ace was looking intently at the wall. He gently ran a finger over the board.

            “So. Who on the crew speaks Armenian?” Thatch looked at Ace in confusion.

            “What do you mean?” Ace pointed to a spot on the wood.

            “Here. There’s Armenian written on the wood.” Thatch looked closer, squinting.

            “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

            “No, here.” Ace circled a smaller area with his finger. “It’s disguised to blend in with the grain of the wood.” Thatch still couldn’t see it.

            “What’s it say?” Ace bent closer, studying the wall.

            “It says ‘door.’” Ace reached a hand up and pressed it against the wall. A small, undetectable panel switch pushed into the wall, and a door-sized piece of the wall slid away, revealing a smallish room with a desk, window, weird plants, a bed, and the black cat currently sleeping on it. Serpent stood up, stretching and yawning.

            “What do you _want_ -“ her eyes landed on Ace and she froze. She looked to Thatch, glaring. “What did you do?” Thatch raised his hands placatingly.

            “Nothing! I swear!” Serpent rolled her eyes. Ace was the next to speak. He was studying Serpent with fascination.

            “How are you talking?” Serpent’s eyes focused on him, seeming to smile.

            “It’s a secret. Now, why don’t we have introductions?” She padded over and sat directly in front of Ace, looking up at him. “My name is Serpent. I live on this ship. I suppose you could say I’m a member of this crew, though their only official pet is the dog, Stephan.” Ace kneeled down.

            “Your name’s a little ironic for a cat, don’t you think?” Serpent nodded and seemed to shrug before looking right into Ace’s eyes.

            “It’s very rare that we’re allowed to choose our own names, even though they’re such a huge part of us. It’s a little unfair, no?” Ace blinked and looked down into Serpent’s face deeply.

            “Yes, I agree. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Ace.” Thatch sensed an understanding pass between the two, then spoke.

            “I was planning on showing this to you last, but you can look around now. This is the room Oyaji wants you to use while you stay with us. Is it suitable?” Ace nodded and stepped through the doorway, looking around at the furniture and plants.

            “Who stays here most of the time?” Thatch blinked and tried to buy himself time.           

            “What?” Ace gestured to one of the plants.

            “That’s a rare hybrid of jungle fireweed. If it isn’t watered every day at the same time it dies in less than a week. So,” He turned to look at Thatch. “Who usually lives in this room?” Thatch didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think of a good enough lie. Luckily Serpent could, and she spoke.

            “We had a botanist who was staying with us for quite some time. He was very introverted, to the point where he actually disguised the door to his room. He left us at the last island we passed. Left all his plants here. No idea why. He was kind of a weird guy, but nice enough. He made me a door so I could get in here on my own.” She paused. “Actually, the mechanism’s been jammed for a little while, do you think you can fix it?” Ace blinked.

            “Yeah, probably. If I had the right tools, that is.” He looked around the room. “Where’s the mechanism?” Serpent flicked her tail in the direction of the door. Ace walked over and crouched by the smaller door. Serpent winked at Thatch. She spoke quietly, so only he could hear.

            “I can keep him out of sight for the next couple hours. Try to have an early dinner this evening, though. He’ll probably get restless.” Thatch blinked and whispered back.

            “How could you possibly know-“

            “It’s like I told Marco. I’m a cat, okay? I know everything.” Ace called from where he was crouched near the door.

            “Hey Serpent, you wouldn’t happen to have blueprints for the mechanism, would you?” Serpent smiled at Thatch and turned around to walk over to Ace.

            “They should be somewhere in the filing in the bottom drawer of the desk.” Ace stood and walked over towards the writing surface, opening the drawer and sifting through the documents stored there.

            “…It’s not here.” Serpent walked over to him with a sigh.

            “Yes it is. I saw him put it in there. Now scoot over and let me look.” Serpent lifted herself onto her back paws, front paws braced against the side of the drawer. “Baka, they’re right here.” Ace pulled out the indicated document and began to study it closely. His eyes flicked over the paper, never staying in one place for long. He reached into another drawer of the desk and pulled out an assortment of tools distractedly. He looked almost surprised when he saw them in his hand, but carried the assembly over to the door, setting the blueprints in such a way that he could see them while working. Serpent followed him, giving him occasional tips, pieces of advice, or sarcastic comments. Thatch smiled at the pair and backed out the door.

 

* * *

 

By dinnertime, the whole crew knew. The news had spread like a veritable fire. Everyone had heard, and at the beginning of the meal there had been many discreet and indiscreet looks. Ace seemed to accept them as just the curiosity of the crew about their sudden visitor. Eventually the crew seemed to grow more used to it and dinner proceeded as usual. There was only one hitch.

 _Dammit. Of course he has to screw this up. Of_ course _he does._ Thatch felt his annoyance growing by the minute. Throughout the entire meal Jericho had been glaring at Ace. Literally, for the _entire meal_. Ace had noticed and kept throwing mildly confused looks at the ireful crewmember. It seemed as though Ace was beginning to lose his patience now too, as his looks became more and more annoyed. After another moment of exchanged glares, Jericho stood up.

He brought his dishes to the kitchen and seemed to be on his way out of the mess hall. He was taking a route that would bring him right past Ace, Thatch, and Marco’s table, and Ace was watching his progress across the mess hall with undisguised annoyance. When Jericho was next to Ace he paused and glared down at him. Ace looked back up defiantly. Jericho scowled.

“What’re you looking at?” Ace looked him up and down and replied with cold disinterest.           

“Nothing much.”  Jericho’s scowl deepened.

“You little bitch!” He raised his hand back in preparation to strike Ace, and suddenly Ace wasn’t seeing the galley anymore. Instead, he saw a different hand coming down, in a different room. It was darker, the only illumination coming from a single light. The room had no windows. He felt terror grip his heart in steel. He was back. Ace felt the closed fist come down across his face and tasted blood. He felt the hand grab him by the throat and raise him off his feet, momentarily suffocating him before throwing him across the room and into the wall. His head collided hard and he felt blood beginning to run down his face-

“Ace! Ace, are you alright?” Ace blinked several times and the vision faded, replaced by the concerned face of Marco. Behind him, Thatch had Jericho pinned against a wall. Ace raised a hand to his head. There was no injury, no blood. His hand trailed down his face to his mouth to find no split lip or fractured jaw. He took a deep breath. _Relax. You’re fine._ Ace rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“I’m fine, Marco. I’m fine.” Marco continued to study Ace worriedly. _His eyes._ Marco thought. _There was so much fear…_

Thatch, meanwhile, had Jericho pinned against a wall, his arm twisted behind him in a near-unbreakable hold.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Thatch’s face was a mask of rage. Jericho made an effort of speaking, but Thatch had his face shoved against the wall so hard his speech came out muffled and inarticulate. “What was that? I couldn’t quite _hear_ you, you crazy son of a bitch.” Again Jericho tried to speak. Thatch’s anger didn’t fade.

“Don’t you even fucking _try_ to justify yourself. You attacked an unarmed child, unprovoked. Is that the kind of things bastards like you _do_ in their free time?” Thatch’s tirade continued, and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Marco had been glaring over his shoulder dangerously at Jericho, but turned back and spoke to Ace gently.

“You sure you’re alright? Thatch kept him from actually hitting you, but…” Marco trailed off, looking Ace in the eye. Both turned to look up as Whitebeard approached. Thatch didn’t even pause in his angry rant. Whitebeard eventually spoke, voice hard and dark.

“Jericho. My room. Now.” Whitebeard’s face was almost as dark as Thatch’s. Thatch, hearing the command, half-threw Jericho away from the wall in the direction of the door. Jericho stumbled a few steps, then recovered, walking with as much dignity as he could manage towards the door. Thatch knelt down by Ace, his voice and face infinitely kinder than when he had been speaking to Jericho.

“Sorry about that, Ace. Jericho is…a rather disagreeable person.” Ace gave a small laugh.

“I seem to remember you using different adjectives to describe him.” Thatch scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah…sorry about that too. On the upside, I guess you learned some new words today.” Ace shrugged, still smiling.

“Meh, I’ve heard better.” Thatch raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” Ace smirked.

“Yes. You see, you were rather uncreative. You should try swearing in different languages, as a starter. Also, try to come up with insults that don’t involve profanity, they’re more effective. People are used to getting sworn at, but if you call someone, for example, a canker-toothed mole cricket, you will not only be calling them one of the ugliest things _I’ve_ ever seen, it’ll take them a while to figure out what the heck you’re talking about, which establishes you as more intelligent. See? Double whammie.” Thatch laughed.

“I guess you’re right.” He stood, and Ace and Marco followed suit. “Well, on that note, I think you should be heading off to bed now.” Thatch and Marco shooed Ace down the hallway and into his room. Before leaving, both bid Ace goodnight. Ace replied in kind and shut the door. The smile faded from his face. His eyes grew dark, remembering what had transpired in the galley. He gave a violent shudder, eyes squeezing shut tightly. He swallowed and tried to force himself to calm down. He felt a gentle pressure against his legs and looked down to see Serpent rubbing herself against his calves comfortingly. He smiled down at her and stroked her along her spine. She purred warmly. Ace’s smile returned and he turned around and began getting ready for bed. Once he was finished, he turned off the lights and climbed under the covers. Serpent had remained pressed against him for the whole process, but now turned in preparation to leave.

“Serpent…wait.” Ace’s voice was quiet. He sounded more like a child then than he had for the entire time since he had been shrunk. He was lying on his side, face turned towards the door. “Can you…Can you stay until I fall asleep? Please?” His voice was weak, tremulous. Serpent looked up at him with sympathy and jumped up onto the bed, curling up in the curve of his body, radiating the comforting warmth of life. She tried to be as soothing as possible.

“I will be here. For as long as you need me.” Ace curled tighter around her so that his body was pressing against hers. He was trembling lightly. “Ace, remember. You’re not alone, you’re never alone.” Ace’s voice was muffled.

“I’m no longer naive enough to believe in a God. God died with my innocence. I think it was sometime after hope and memory’s passing. Now there’s just dissolution and pain, but you can’t build a life out of those. What am I supposed to do, Serpent, when I’ve forgotten how to live?” Serpent was silent. There was no answer she could give. She closed her eyes in sadness. Ace put his arm around her gently.

“Serpent…at least tell me this. With everything I’ve endured, everything I’ve lost…” Serpent might have felt a tear dampen her fur, and Ace’s grip tightened. “Just…Just tell me it’s worth it. Tell me it’s worth living through this, that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just another shade of grey…” Ace’s voice was weak. A suppressed sob shuddered through him. “Please…just make me believe I’m still human.”


	10. Chapter 10

Marco rubbed at his eyes tiredly. It was late at night, everyone else asleep. Marco’s cabin was silent but for the quiet scratchings of his pen. A quiet knock on the door startled Marco out of his reverie and he jumped.

            “Come on in, it’s open.” The door opened with its usual quiet creak, and Marco turned to see Hare standing in the doorway. “Oh, Hare. Please, come inside and take a seat.” Hare smiled, crossing the room to sit in an unoccupied chair.

            “Thank you. You look tired, aren’t you ever going to sleep?” Marco smiled wryly and gestured at the stack of papers.

            “Not until all of this is done.” Hare glanced at the stack.

            “Don’t you usually get more of it done during the day?” Marco ran a hand through his hair.

            “Yeah. Usually I’m about twice as far as I am now. Today was kind of hectic though.” Hare nodded.

            “Even you need sleep though, Marco. Can’t you leave some of it until morning?” Marco sighed.

            “Yeah, I guess so. It just makes it harder for me to sleep knowing it’s sitting there unfinished.” Hare chuckled.

            “A true workaholic.” Marco turned to the stack of papers and seemed to consider them for a moment.

            “You know what? Screw it. I’m just going to sleep.” Marco stood, then paused. “I should probably go check on Ace to make sure he’s doing alright before I head to bed.” He said it quietly to himself, but Hare heard it anyway.

            “Is he doing alright?” He smirked mentally. “He seemed a little… _strained_ the last time I saw him.” Marco smiled.

            “Poor kid seemed kind of homesick this afternoon. Misses his little brother, I think.” Hare’s eyes sharpened with interest, but his face and voice remained calm, conversational.

            “Little brother? You don’t say. I never knew he had one.” Marco nodded.

            “Yeah. And boy is he protective of him. He cherishes Luffy more than anything.” _Luffy…_ Hare let the name roll around in his head. _Why is that familiar?_

            “Where’s this little brother now?”

            “Still living in East Blue, I think. Fuushia Village or something like that.” _Ah yes. There it is. I remember now._ Hare smiled. _Thank you, Marco. You make this almost too easy._

            “I can see how Ace could miss him if his little brother is that important to him.” Marco stretched his shoulders.

            “Well, I’m going to check on Ace.” He started walking towards the door. “You know, you should really get some sleep too.” Hare nodded politely and headed out into the hall, heading back towards his room. A smile formed on Hare’s face. _Oh Ace. You’re such a good liar, but it’s all for naught if your friends betray you so willingly._  

* * *

 

Marco walked down the hall at a relaxed pace. He gave a massive yawn, eyelids even lower than usual, and turned to face the wall where the hidden door was. Groping around for a few moments, he found the switch and the wall slid open. When he first looked in the room, the first thing he noticed was the light. It was a full moon tonight, and the white light momentarily blinded Marco. After his eyes adjusted he looked around the room and was instantly awake. The window was wide open, cool night air pouring in from outside. And Ace’s bed was empty.

            Marco ran to the window and looked desperately behind the boat for some sign of the missing boy, but there was none. He quickly changed to his bird form and flew hastily out the window.  _No no no no no…Come on, Ace, aren’t you smarter than this?_ He scanned the water, searching for any splash or movement that was out of place. There were none. Marco felt desperation and panic rising inside him in equal portions. He circled back to the ship, gaining altitude to maximize his range of visibility. His gaze wandered over the ship and froze. _Oh thank God._ Relief rose like a tide inside Marco, andhe circled lower and landed on deck. Sitting with his back to the port railing, knees pressed tightly against his chest and head bowed, was Ace.

            When Marco landed Ace remained in his curled position. Marco approached him slowly, unsure.  As Marco drew nearer, he noticed Ace was shivering, his entire body trembling lightly. Marco approached, reaching out with his right hand.

            “Ace?” Ace’s head jerked up, and he threw himself backwards, away from Marco. His eyes were wide and his breathing was shallow and uneven.

            “Don’t touch me!” Marco was shocked.

            “Ace…” Ace’s breathing remained shallow, almost like panting.

            “Stay back!” Marco stopped where he was and slowly withdrew his hand. Marco looked into Ace’s eyes and saw nothing but panic and fear. _He doesn’t even recognize me…_ Marco, moving slowly so as not to startle Ace, quietly sat where he was, facing towards him.

            “Ace, calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Marco raised both his hands slowly so that Ace could see them clearly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Ace shut his eyes tightly and a shudder passed down his spine. He remained that way for a moment, and when he reopened his eyes they seemed clearer.

            “Marco.” Ace’s voice was choked. He shut his eyes again. He curled back up, arms wrapped around his legs pulling them close to his chest, forehead resting on his knees. Marco took this as acceptance and slowly moved over to sit next to Ace. He could feel Ace shuddering next to him. He slowly put his arm around Ace. At the contact Ace flinched, but didn’t flee. Marco looked down at the boy in concern.

            “Ace, what’s the matter? Why are you so upset?” Ace’s voice came out muffled and thready.

            “Because I remember _everything_. I…I just…During the day it’s not so bad, but at night? I can’t-…There’s no escaping, when I’m asleep.” Marco’s brows furrowed in confusion. Ace continued to speak haltingly, and what he said chilled Marco. “Something’s breaking, Marco. Something really important. And I can’t…I can’t fix it…I don’t know how…” Older Ace’s voice echoed inside Marco’s head. The same words. Marco pushed them aside for now, focusing instead on helping this Ace, this child before him who was so clearly hurting. Before Marco quite realized what he was doing he put his other arm under Ace’s knees and lifted the boy, cradling him against his chest. Ace clung to him like a drowning man, and Marco did his best to comfort him.

            “Shh, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe now, with us. We’ll protect you.” Marco didn’t know how long he sat there with Ace, only that he’d be willing to sit there all night, if need be. His brother needed him right now, and he’d be damned if he’d just stand by while there was something, anything, he could do to help. Marco watched the stars spin, speaking quiet, comforting words to the frightened child. Eventually Ace’s breathing evened out, growing slower and deeper. Marco looked down in surprise. Ace had fallen asleep. Marco smiled and moved as smoothly as he could, ignoring his stiffened joints, and carried Ace back inside the ship.

            Glancing out a window, Marco realized it was nearly morning. _Oh well. Who needs to sleep anyway?_ He looked down at the sleeping Ace, a small smile spreading on his face. _This was more important._ They had reached Ace’s room, and Marco, as gently as he could, set Ace down on the bed, covering him with the blankets. He turned to leave and found Serpent sitting in the doorway. She looked Marco in the eyes, and with a softer voice than he had ever heard her use, spoke.

            “Thank you.” Marco blinked in surprise, then closed his eyes with a smile.

            “Any time. He’s family, after all.”

 

* * *

 

Ace was a little late in coming to breakfast, but Thatch and Marco didn’t protest. They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes. Ace had brought some sheets of paper and a pen with him, and Thatch couldn’t quite see what he was doing. Every few moments Ace’s eyes would dart up from the page to closely study them before returning to his work.

            “What’s with the paper?” Marco asked after a few moments of Ace’s working. Ace looked away. A slight blush colored his cheeks.

            “I’m drawing.”  Thatch’s eyes showed interest.

            “Really? Let me see.”  Ace hesitantly handed him the paper and Thatch’s eyes widened.  Marco looked over his shoulder.

            “This is actually quite good. How long have you been drawing?” On the paper was an accurate representation of both Thatch and Marco at breakfast. The drawing was incomplete, the details only just emerging, but Ace had somehow captured their personalities in just the one still shot. _It’s in the eyes_. Thatch thought. In the picture Thatch’s eyes showed mirth and a general joy of living, as if at any moment he could burst into laughter. Marco’s eyes were steadier, calmer, but had an infinite depth of warm peace. In the picture Thatch was speaking, and judging by the mirth in his face he was saying something humorous. Marco’s eyes were directed away from the point of capture, as if feigning disinterest, but based on the small tug at the edge of his mouth and the light in his eyes he was trying not to laugh. Ace’s blush deepened.

            “I’ve only been drawing for about two weeks. They said it’d be good for me-“ Ace cut himself off, nearly biting his own tongue to keep himself from continuing. Marco looked up from the picture and back at Ace.

            “Really? Why’s that?” Ace’s mind raced to come up with a lie. He faked a smile.

            “I don’t exactly have a ton of friends back home. My schoolteacher is under the false impression that I’m depressed. She thinks creative activities will help me become more outgoing, but it really won’t. I’m not asocial, it’s just the kids back home are all jerks or morons.” Thatch laughed.

            “Oh, Ace. There are _adults_ who aren’t on the same mental level as you.” He handed the picture back. “But this really is very good. You should keep drawing. Make it a hobby or something.” Ace’s smile widened and he accepted the paper back, returning to drawing. After a moment, a thought struck Thatch.

            “Have you done any other artwork while on the ship? I haven’t seen you drawing, but…” Ace looked up at him. From the stack of paper he had brought with him that morning he drew out a different sheet. He studied it himself for a moment, then handed it to Thatch. This picture too was quite impressive. It was an image of Whitebeard. He was standing proudly in near profile, his naginata in his hand. His feet were planted firmly, his coat being blown back behind him by an unseen wind. His chest was exposed with its multitude of scars. Behind him was the Moby Dick’s figurehead of the giant whale. It, too, proudly proclaimed its scars. The only difference between the drawing and the real ship was in this, Ace had portrayed it as a living whale. Looking closer, Thatch saw that the scars on the whale and Whitebeard weren’t just similar, they were exactly the same. Thatch smiled. He liked this image. He studied Whitebeard’s face closer. It held…a deep calm. A full acceptance only born of the wisdom gained from many years of life. He looked serene. Steadfast. As solid and tranquil as the great whale behind him. Thatch handed the picture back to Ace.

            “That’s wonderful. You really do an amazing job of capturing a person’s personality when you draw them.” Ace smiled and took back the drawing, tucking it away among the other sheets. He went back to drawing, smile still on his face. After a moment, though, he winced and moved the pen from his right hand to his left. Thatch noticed. He frowned.

            “Is there something wrong with your hand?” Ace looked up, surprised. His mouth worked for a moment without producing sound. He finally said,

            “I-I have a bad habit of holding a pen too tightly. My hand cramps after a while, so it’s good for me to switch every now and then. I’ve taught myself to be mostly ambidextrous, so it’s not too bad.” Thatch opened his mouth to speak, but just then Hannah from 8th division came rushing up to their table and distracted him. She spoke to Marco, voice full of nearly childish outrage.

            “Aniki! Leanne took my hair brush and won’t give it back!” Leanne came running up behind her.

            “I did not! It was mine in the first place! She was the one who took it from me! She said she was going to _borrow_ it, but then she never gave it back! What was I supposed to do?! I was just trying to reclaim what was rightfully mine!” Marco sighed.

            “Ladies, please-“ Hannah cut him off, rounding angrily on Leanne.

            “Don’t you try to lie to him! That hairbrush was mine! I bought it two islands ago!!” The conversation devolved into an all-out argument between Hannah and Leanne with Marco trying desperately to get the conversation under control. After a few minutes of getting nowhere, Ace turned amusedly to Thatch           

            “You really are like a big family, huh?” Thatch grinned at Ace proudly.

            “Yep. Whitebeard’s our Oyaji, the commanders are sort of oni-san, and we all love each other like family. We aren’t related by blood, but what does that matter? The only family that really means anything is the one that _you_ see as your family.” Ace looked at Thatch with surprise. He then turned to look out at the assembled crew, past the bickering crewmates-no, _sisters_. He saw the joy and love in each face and knew what Thatch had said was true. A small smile graced his face. _Sabo would have loved this._ He felt his heart constrict painfully.

            “I think you have a beautiful family.” Thatch looked at Ace with a warm smile.

            “You could be a part of it too, you know.” Ace looked up, shock on his face. He looked away.

            “I…I don’t think you want someone like me in your family.” But Ace felt a warmth in his chest. Suddenly a small, cold voice in the back of his head thought, _compared to this, what are you? Just garbage with bad blood. Unclean, unnecessary, and unwanted._ Everything he had heard people say over the years echoed in his mind. _Devil-spawn, monster._ He looked at Thatch. The voice continued ruthlessly. _He doesn’t know. That’s the only reason he’s kind to you._ Ace tried to shove away the voice. _No. Thatch and Marco and Whitebeard and the rest_ care _. Why else would Thatch invite me to be a part of them?_ The voice returned, speaking its bitter truths. _Then why not tell them the truth, eh? If you are so confident in their compassion, why not tell them you’re the son of Whitebeard’s dead rival? We can see how long it takes for the weapons to come out._

 

* * *

 

Dinner that evening was an interesting affair. Ace didn’t know how it happened, but somehow the entire crew found themselves involved in a massive arm-wrestling tournament. Ace chuckled and shook his head. The match currently going on was between Selma and Joshua. Most of the crew had formed a ring around the table to watch the match. Marco was to Ace’s right and Thatch was a ways behind him. Ace had some paper and a clipboard and kept looking down at it, trying to capture the scene. Since Thatch’s praise that morning he had been drawing almost constantly. His right hand hurt, but he didn’t care. Selma won, and Ace smiled, redrawing a few lines so that it was clear to anyone seeing the picture what the outcome was going to be. He laughed, looking around and seeing all the myriad of emotions present in the crew. Triumph, joy, love, mirth, defeat. _This crew is really something special._ Ace smiled and went back to his drawing. He spent several minutes focusing solely on the drawing, getting the expressions right and shading.

When he finished, he flipped the sheet back and looked around for a new subject to draw. Selma and Joshua were arguing, Joshua claiming that Selma cheated, some of the pirates who had already been disqualified had started a drinking competition, Thatch had moved over nearer the kitchens and was currently shouting instructions over the general ruckus of the galley, and Whitebeard sat at the head of the room, laughing. His face was full of pure joy, the joy that came from making others happy and finding your own happiness in that. Ace smiled and looked down, beginning to draw. The smile stayed on his face as the image of Whitebeard laughing slowly emerged on the page. Ace was working hard on the expression, trying to capture not just the image of happiness, but the soul of it. This picture had a wider shot than most of Ace’s drawings did, and in the background you could see the general goings-on of the crew. Present in all of their faces was a piece of that same joy, and one could almost see the close bond between everyone in the picture.

Ace looked up to look at his unknowing subjects, smile still on his face. The smile died. Ace felt black terror and blind panic overcome him. _No…_ He took a step back. _No…He’s dead…I killed him…_ Ace dropped the clipboard. Across the circle of spectators, Edward Hare’s face showed surprise. A slow grin spread across his face. Marco was looking down at Ace in concern.

“Ace? Ace, are you alright?” Ace didn’t hear him. He took another step back. Marco reached down to touch his shoulder. Ace turned on him and threw his hand off.

“You’re with _him?_ All of you…” he turned back to Hare, fear nearly consuming him. “Oh god…” Hare was drawing closer, one calm step at a time. Ace stumbled back a few steps before turning and heading at a dead run for the door. Marco called after him.

“Ace!” Thatch, who was closer, tried to grab Ace’s shoulder.

“Ace, what’s wrong?” Ace tore his shoulder out of Thatch’s grasp harshly and continued running. He made it to the door and threw himself through it, still moving as fast as he could. Marco stood frozen in shock. _What just happened?_ Thatch approached him. He spoke in a dead serious voice.

“Marco. I don’t know what got him so scared, but we have to find him soon.” Marco looked at Thatch. By way of explanation, Thatch stuck out the hand that had grabbed Ace’s shoulder. Marco looked down at it and his eyes widened.

Thatch’s hand was covered in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have through chapter 44 written, but I'll post in the morning. It's late where I am. Hope you're enjoying it so far! If you're really desperate to read, find it on fanfiction!


	11. Chapter 11

Ace ran. The hallways and corridors raced past and Ace paid them no mind. About halfway down a hallway he stumbled and fell hard on his right side. He cried out and clutched his right shoulder in pain, eyes squeezed tightly shut. After a moment he brought his hand away and saw blood staining his fingers. _Shit…_ He forced himself back up and began running down the hall again at a slightly slower and more uneven pace. He kept his left hand pressed against the top of his right shoulder blade, trying to keep the blood from dripping on the floor and leaving a clear trail.

            He was panting now, and his shoulder was hurting him badly. _I can’t keep this up much longer…and they’re bound to be looking for me by now._ He stopped near the next door and pressed his ear against it, listening for movement or speech from within. There were none. He pushed the door open and walked inside. Behind the door was a large room with stored building supplies and a wide variety of tools used for ship repairs. _The shipwright’s workshop…_ Ace looked around a spotted a large workbench against one wall. He went over to it and looked at the objects resting upon it. Tools, half-finished work, the usual. Ace’s eyes stopped when they hit a large sheet of paper lying on the table. He lifted the page, trying not to stain it with the blood on his hands, and studied it for a moment. A smile appeared on his face. He rolled up the document and headed back to the door. After listening for people again, he stepped through, shutting the door silently behind him.

 

* * *

 

The ship was in an uproar. The crew was scouring the entire Moby Dick, stem to stern, searching for the missing child. Whitebeard was in his cabin, fear for his missing son racing through him. As of right now, they had no idea where Ace was. It was entirely possible he had jumped ship, either stealing a lifeboat or trying to swim. Anyone in their right mind would never try such a stunt, but fear was one of the strongest incentives out there. A member of fourth division came in. Whitebeard looked up and stood. The man was breathless, as if he had just been running.

            “Oyaji! It’s…It’s alright. He’s still on the ship.” Whitebeard felt relief wash over him, a terrible weight lifting off his chest.           

            “Thank _goodness_. Heavens knows how much worse the situation could be.” He looked back at his son to find him looking away guiltily. He blinked. “…You still haven’t found him?” The man shook his head. “Then how do you know he’s on the ship?” The man looked back up at Whitebeard.

            “We know he was in the workshop.” Whitebeard gave him a confused look.

            “How?”

            “Well…the ship's blueprints are missing.” The man ran a hand over his face. “If he has those we’ve lost the advantage. With the blueprints of the ship, Ace now knows the Moby Dick as well as we do, if not better.”

 

* * *

 

Serpent crouched low, moving silently over the floorboards. Ahead of her was sitting one of the ship’s rats. It’s nose twitched in an ugly face, oily black fur covered its body in a matted coat. Serpent took one last step forward. _Gotcha._ She leapt at the rodent. It saw her coming, gave a squeal of surprise, and shot into a nearby air vent. Serpent hissed in frustration. Marco approached her, having seen the exchange.

“Don’t you think we have bigger problems than a few rats right now?” He sounded upset. Serpent looked at him.

“If I catch one I can talk with it, and they know this ship far better than any of you. They probably already know where Ace is.” Marco looked at Serpent in surprise.

“You can talk to rats?” Serpent rolled her eyes.

“Yes. I can. Now why don’t you leave me to this, and you get back to-“ There was a sound of scampering over head, coming from the vent system of the Moby Dick. Serpent hissed in annoyance.

“Damn rats. They all hide in those bedamned vents.” Serprent followed the sound down the hallway, leaving Marco alone. He turned back down the hallway, moving off at a jog. _I know you’re scared, Ace, but we just want to help…don’t hide from us, please. You’re our family, we’d never intentionally hurt or scare you._ He felt guilt, remembering the betrayal he had seen in Ace’s eyes before he fled. Selma approached Marco, coming at a run. Marco stopped. Selma walked up to him, panting.

“Marco…” she took a moment to catch her breath. “Any luck yet?” Marco shook his head.

“What about you? Have you found any sign of him?” Selma also shook her head. After a moment of hesitation, though, she spoke. “I think he may have been in the infirmary, though.” Marco’s eyes widened.

“Really? How can you tell?”

“I left when the search began, and when I came back, some stuff had been moved around. Nothing big, and it’s only because I remember specifically setting something somewhere that I noticed at all.” Marco nodded.

“I’ll go tell Oyaji, you keep looking.” Selma nodded and ran off. Marco turned down the hallway and headed towards Whitebeard’s cabin.

 

* * *

 

Whitebeard was sitting still, deep in thought. Worry and guilt ran through him. The door to the cabin opened and closed quietly. It was only because the room was dead silent that Whitebeard heard the noise at all. He lifted himself out of his brooding and turned to look at his visitor. Before him stood a woman, maybe 30, with waist length light red-brown hair. She was wearing a very light blue dress with loose, elbow-length sleeves. She had a pretty face, large eyes and a small nose and cute, almost childish freckles. Her face was calm, but when she saw Whitebeard it hardened, growing set and determined. She marched across the room quickly, her strides eating the distance in seconds. As she drew close, her expression didn’t change. She reached him, and drew herself up to her full height.

And slapped him.

Whitebeard was shocked. He had experienced many things over his lifetime, sustained many injuries. He’d been stabbed, punched, slashed, bitten by animals, bruised, and bludgeoned. But never once in his entire life had an opponent _slapped_ him. He sat there in shock for a moment, and the woman before him spoke without hesitation, voice full of protective fury.

“ _How could you lose him?!_ How could you _possibly_ lose him on your own ship?! You supidi maiali!! I left him in your care for _two days_ and this is what happens?! Non ho mai dovuto fidarmi sciocchi stupidi come te!” Now, Whitebeard didn’t speak Italian, but he assumed based on her tone that the words weren’t exactly kind. He tried to be polite in the hopes that she would calm down. He didn’t know who she was, but there was something very familiar about her face.

“I’m sorry, madam, but who exactly are you?” She was glaring at him, staring right up into his face. She wasn’t intimidated or afraid at all, standing up to a yonkou with no weapons or protection. Whitebeard was impressed. The woman below him continued to stare up at him furiously. Just then, the door opened. Marco strode through.

“Oyaji, we-Oh. Who’s this?” The woman had now turned her glaring away from Whitebeard and refocused it on Marco. Again she marched across the cabin with angry intent, and stopped just before Marco and slapped him across the face too. He stumbled back a step in surprise. The woman glared at him with furious passion.

“ _You._ Of all the people here, it had to be _you._ Do you have any _idea_ what you’ve done? He trusted you!” Marco was staring at her in open shock, backing away from the enraged female.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sighed deeply, placing her hands on her hips and closing her eyes. When she spoke again her voice was calmer.

“No, I suppose you don’t.” She looked to Whitebeard. “And you and your crew are doing an admirable job of searching for him. You have to _hurry,_ though _._ But you must also be compassionate.” She looked between the two. “Do you even know why he’s afraid? What he’s running _from_?” The two exchanged a look and shook their heads. Whitebeard spoke.

“…What is it that’s scaring him?” The woman looked at him with sad eyes.

“It’s not my secret to tell. But he needs all the kindness and love you can give him.”  A scratching noise came from over head. The woman looked up. “What was that?” Marco shook his head dismissively.

“It’s just some rats. They like to use our vent system as a means of transportation. The vents run throughout the entire ship, but they’re too small for anyone but a child to…” He trailed off, eyes widening. _Ace has the blueprints of the ship!_ He turned to Whitebeard.

“I think I know where Ace is and why we haven’t found him yet!” Whitebeard looked at him in surprise. “He’s in the vents! With the blueprints he knows the whole layout and uses them to get around without being seen!” Whitebeard’s face grew hopeful. He pulled out a baby den-den mushi from his pocket. All of the commanders had one, and at any time any of them could contact any of the others or Whitebeard.  He spoke into it firmly.

“Sons, we now know where Ace is. He’s in the ventilation system of the ship. We don’t know exactly where, but I want you all to put people near every vent you can find. Am I understood?” A chorus of positive responses echoed out of the snail and Whitebeard set it back aside. He turned back to the woman.

“You have to tell us what’s wrong with Ace. If we don’t know, we don’t know how to help him.” The woman gave no signs of having heard him. Her head was turned slightly to the side, eyes widened.

“Mio Dio…” She turned and began heading for the door at a fast pace. “I have to go.” Marco blinked.

“Wait, stop.” He reached out to grab her shoulder before she could leave.

And his hand passed right through her.

Whitebeard and Marco both froze in shock. She turned to face them once more. For the first time, Whitebeard noticed her feet didn’t actually touch the floor.  Her face was determined once again.

“I _am_ leaving. My son needs me.” And with that, Portgas D Rouge turned around and walked through the door, leaving behind a stunned Marco and Whitebeard. They sat there in silence for a moment until the den-den mushi near Whitebeard spoke. Jozu’s voice came out clearly.

“Oyaji. We’ve got him. Second deck. But…there’s something wrong with him. Bring Selma.” Whitebeard’s face became concerned. _What could have happened to him?_ Both he and Marco headed out the door, equal expressions of worry on their faces.

 

* * *

 

_Several minutes earlier_

 

Jozu had sent two people to stand by each vent on the second deck. He was making rounds regularly to check if there had been any sign of his missing brother. Thus far, there had been none. When Jozu had assigned everyone, he had told them to be as quiet as possible and to stand directly next to the vents. This way they would be neither seen nor heard, and could efficiently grab Ace if he should come out. He was halfway to the next vent when he heard sounds of a disturbance.

            “Let me _go_!” Ace’s voice was near shouting. Jozu began running and rounded the next corner. Before him, Ace was being held down by two members of third division. One was holding his arms while the other held down his feet. Ace had been fighting back. The man near his feet had a broken nose to show for the struggle, and he had to use both hands to hold Ace’s legs, leaving his face covered in blood. Both were grimacing with effort and Ace was writhing wildly, desperately. His eyes were widened in terror and his breathing was shallow. Apparently some other members of third division had heard the struggle, and a small crowd was beginning to gather in the hallway. Some of the people stepped forward, moving towards Ace to help hold him down. He grew more frenzied, and face turning wildly from person to person. He squeezed his eyes shut.

            “JUST KILL ME!!” Everyone froze, the room going silent instantly. To say Jozu was shocked was an understatement. Ace tore away from the two people formerly holding him and ran down the hall. This seemed to reawaken the crowd, and they chased him.

            Several hallways later, they had managed to corner Ace at a turn in a hallway. He was now standing with his back to the corner, pressed as far against it as he could go. He sank down against the wall, panting. From his seated position he stared out at the crowd. At Jozu’s signal they all began moving in simultaneously at a slow pace, leaving no way for Ace to run. Ace looked around desperately, but there was no escape route. His breathing grew shallower, fear nearly consuming him. He shut his eyes tightly.

            “But there _is_ a way out.” A familiar voice caused Ace to open his eyes. He looked up. Standing beside him was a man. Well, almost a man. Ace looked up at him with wide eyes. He was wearing a dress suit with a tie. Long legs stretched up to a slim torso with elegant arms. A pocket-watch was held in one of the gloved hands, and the man was studying the time. With a last look he snapped it shut and stuck it in his breast pocket. The man bent down, hand extended towards Ace. His head looked like that of a starved and diseased rabbit, but the face was more human. The rabbit ears suck up from his head crookedly, with many unnatural bends and twists. An inhumanly wide smile was on his face, the ends of it reaching up near his eyes. And his eyes…Hazel-grey eyes, Ace’s eyes, stared out of the distorted face. The entire head was covered in a thin and unhealthy coat of white fur. Beneath it, open, rotting sores covered some parts of the skin. “Let’s be off, Ace.” The unnatural smile remained on his face when he spoke, and some of the sores opened, oozing pus and sludgy blood. “We’re behind schedule. Running very close to _late._ ”

Ace looked out at the approaching pirates. He looked back up at the White Rabbit and took the proffered hand. The unnatural grin grew wider.

“Oh, come now, Ace. Give us a smile.” He pulled Ace to his feet and led him away. When they reached them, they simply walked through the pirates and out beyond them. The rabbit turned his face towards Ace, still leading him by the hand. “ _Everyone’s_ happy these days.”

Jozu gave a signal and the crowd stopped. Before him, Ace had gone completely still. Jozu approached Ace alone and knelt down beside the child.

“…Ace?” He didn’t respond. Ace’s face was turned away from Jozu, and Jozu carefully used one hand to turn it towards him. The boy was totally limp, and there was no resistance. Ace’s breathing was shallow and slow. Jozu looked at Ace’s face and his eyes widened.

Ace’s eyes were dead.

They were clouded over and unfocused, and it really did look as though he had died. Jozu hurriedly picked up one of Ace’s hands, putting his first and second fingers on Ace’s wrist. His pulse beat steadily beneath Jozu’s hand. Jozu gently shook the boy.

“Ace…Ace, wake up.” Ace made no response, body swinging limply with the movement. Jozu supported his weight with one arm and used the other to pull out his den-den mushi.

“Oyaji. We’ve got him. Second deck.” He looked down at the boy, filled with worry and a hint of guilt. _Is this my fault?_ He refocused on the den-den-mushi. “But…there’s something wrong with him. Bring Selma.”

 

* * *

 

Whitebeard and Marco arrived at the scene moments later. Marco rushed up first to look at the boy, at first with excitement, but upon seeing his lifeless expression his jubilance faded. He sat next to Ace, gently trying to rouse him. Whitebeard approached at a slower pace. As he moved, the crew parted, giving him plenty of room. As he drew up to Ace, Marco and Jozu stepped back.

            Whitebeard kneeled near the boy. He studied him for a moment, looking into his eyes for some hint of the Ace they all knew and loved. He didn’t find it. He shut his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. Looking back up, he gently picked up the boy, cradling him almost like a baby. Ace didn’t respond, and Whitebeard held him close, feeling a tightness on his heart. He slowly began walking away from the area, heading for the infirmary. Again, as he passed the crew stepped back, giving him plenty of room. After he had passed them they fell into step behind him. They walked this way for a few moments in silence, the mood dark. Whitebeard felt the tightness growing, as well as a kind of anger. His voice was hard when he addressed the crew.

            “This isn’t a damned funeral procession! Ace is still alive, and we’re going to find a way to get him back. Now, could one of you please go and tell Selma to prepare a bed in the infirmary?” The crew looked up, surprised.  A few nodded and headed off down a side hallway at a faster pace. The crowd behind Whitebeard dispersed, and he continued walking as smoothly as possible towards the infirmary. He looked down at the boy in his arms. “We will get you back, Ace. I promise.” Marco, still by his side, looked up at his father and brother with concern.

            A short while later Whitebeard reached the infirmary. Before he could even reach for the handle of the door, it was flung wide and Selma and a nurse bustled out. Selma was in her cold, collected doctor-mode, and the nurse beside her also bore a determined expression. Selma pointed towards one of the many cots in the infirmary.

            “That one. Near my desk.” Whitebeard nodded to her and walked over, setting Ace gently onto the bed and pulling the blankets over him. He stepped back and Selma walked over, pulling up a chair near the bed and sitting down. Marco also pulled up a chair and sat down next to Ace. Selma glanced at him, saw his expression, and decided to leave him alone.

            “Any physical injuries?” She had a clipboard and was scribbling down notes on the sheet of paper. Whitebeard considered.

            “Not that I know of. Thatch said he thought Ace was bleeding, but when I found him there was no blood, not even on his shirt.” Selma nodded briskly.

            “Thatch must have imagined it then. Do you know what triggered this response?” Whitebeard shook his head.

            “Jozu said it happened when he and some other members of third division were approaching Ace in order to collect him. Said he just randomly went limp.” Again Selma nodded. What followed was a basic examination of Ace’s condition. She shone lights in his eyes, tested his reflexes, and attempted to use all kinds of stimuli to get Ace to respond. As the night progressed she grew more and more stressed out. Finally she turned to Whitebeard and Marco, who had remained in the room the whole time. She looked guilty.

            “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He hasn’t responded to anything I’ve tried and he seems perfectly healthy besides” she gestured to Ace’s face. “this.” Whitebeard bowed his head and nodded. Marco’s face grew even more worried and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He reached down and gently grasped Ace’s hand, clasping it between both of his own. He bowed his head. She continued to look at them, guilt doubling.

            “I’m going to keep trying, though. And I’ll do some research, see if I can’t find anything similar.”

            “Can I stay in here with him?” All three turned to look at the source of the voice. Thatch was standing in the doorway, face serious. Selma’s eyes grew softer and she nodded, stepping aside. Thatch gave a nod of thanks and walked over, taking Selma’s now vacated chair.

 

* * *

 

Marco blinked several times and rubbed swollen eyes. He, Thatch, and Selma had been up all night. Thatch and Marco refused to leave Ace alone, and Selma was busy looking through her medical books for any kind of similar case or cure. Beside him, Thatch yawned widely. One of the ship’s cooks came walking in, bearing a tray containing three plates of food. Marco stood and accepted the tray, setting it on a table not far away.

            “Thanks for bringing us breakfast, we really appreciate it.” The man nodded.

            “…If…if there’s anything else we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.” He looked between the room’s occupants. “Seriously. Anything.” He finished speaking and stepped back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Marco looked at the tray of food without much interest.

            “You should eat something.” Marco turned to look at Thatch. It was the first time Thatch had spoken in nearly six hours. Marco shook his head.

            “I’m not really hungry-“ At her desk, Selma gasped. Both instantly turned to look at her.

            “What? What is it?” Selma was staring her book with wide eyes. She looked up at Marco.

            “Call Oyaji in here. I just found what’s wrong with Ace.”

 

* * *

 

Whitebeard strode to the room as quickly as possible. When he finally reached the infirmary, his urgency didn’t fade and he quickly opened the door and entered. As soon as he was inside, he turned to Selma.

            “Well? What’s wrong with him? Can you fix it?” Selma didn’t look up when he spoke. She was reading the page she had been turned to when Whitebeard had been called in, and as she read more her face filled first with confusion, and then with sorrow. Selma turned to him with deep sadness in her eyes. Whitebeard saw the expression and froze. “What? What is it?” Selma looked away, swallowing thickly. She spoke quietly to herself.

            “It shouldn’t be possible…not in a child this young…” Whitebeard looked between her and Marco and Thatch. They looked just as confused and worried as he did. This time it was Marco who spoke.

            “Selma, we have to know. We can’t help him if we don’t know what’s wrong.” Selma looked back up at them, sadness still written across her face. After a moment’s hesitation she spoke.

            “Ace…Ace has a very rare and very extreme form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”


	12. Chapter 12

Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard stared at Selma, stunned. Thatch looked down at Ace.

            “PTSD? How does a _10-year-old kid_ get PTSD?” Marco spoke next.

            “Can you fix it? I mean, now that you know what it is? And what did you mean when you said it was rare?” Selma looked down at the child.

            “I…I hope I can fix it.” She looked seriously worried. “When I say rare, I mean there have only ever been six documented cases.” Marco looked up.

            “What’s going on with him? I mean, what’s he feeling right now, while he’s like this?”

            “Well, with this kind of PTSD the victim went through some kind of severely traumatic experience, so traumatic they fled. Somewhere the experience couldn’t follow them.”

            “Meaning?” Selma sighed.

            “Ace has fled deep into his own mind. Created a kind of fantasy world where he can escape. While there, he doesn’t feel anything that’s going on in this world. You could stab him and it wouldn’t even register.” Whitebeard was the next to speak.

            “What happened to those people? Were they ever cured?” Selma looked up at him. She swallowed.

            “…No.”

            “Is there anything we can do? Any way we can help him?” Selma swallowed.

            “There’s no known cure.” The room went silent, each feeling despair settle over them like a shroud. Marco sat down next to Ace again, gently taking his hand between both of his. He bowed his head.

“My God.” After a moment, Selma raised her head and set her shoulders.

“But I’m going to find a cure. There _is_ a way to get Ace back.” Her voice went quieter, she spoke only to herself, and her own doubt was audible. “…There has to be.”

 

* * *

 

Jozu…wasn’t really paying attention to his job right now. He was down in the storage hold doing a routine check of cargo. He was supposed to be cataloguing, making sure everything was accounted for, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, upstairs in the infirmary with the child, his brother, who, no matter what he was told otherwise, was still in that room _hurt_ because of him. Jozu’s guilt felt like a stack of bricks on his chest.

He rounded some crates, brooding. _What could I have done differently? What_ should _I have done?_ A thousand different scenarios ran through Jozu’s head. A thousand different choices he could have made. He gave a deep sigh, trying to push away his regrets and focus. He rounded another corner, looking up. He gasped and froze.

There was someone sitting on the floor.

It looked like a girl with long black hair. She wore a stained, slightly tattered white dress. Her back was towards Jozu and he couldn’t see her face. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, nearly still, her only movements being a small, barely noticeable sway from side to side. Jozu walked closer, and she made no movement. Jozu regarded her with suspicion, leaning slightly to the left to try to get a look at her face.

“…Hello?” The girl stopped swaying. She stayed still for a moment, making no movement. Slowly she turned her head. Jozu stopped moving towards her and stared.

The girl had no face.

The entire front side of her head was just smooth skin. Jozu stood there, frozen. The creature had no eyes, and yet Jozu felt he was being regarded like a fly in a spider’s web. The creature before him lifted an arm and slowly extended it towards him.  The limb was thin, and the skin shone pale and unhealthy. The fingers were unnaturally long, and the nail on the end of each protruded into a jet-black point. The hand reached towards Jozu and he remained there, hypnotized. Paralyzed. The arm reached what should have been its natural limit, but it continued its slow movement. From out of the sleeve came a second elbow. Jozu was horrified, but he still could not bring himself to move. The hand grabbed one of his wrists and he felt himself being led forward, towards this nightmare. His mind was panicking, mentally shouting commands at his body to fight or run, but his body would not resist.

The creature brought up a second hand. It lifted it up towards its face, still moving at a slow, hypnotizing pace. Slowly it dragged one of the black nails against the skin of its face, creating a crescent-shaped gash. From the wound a small trail of black blood ran down the head and neck. Jozu stared with morbid fascination. And then the gash opened. Behind the bleeding flesh Jozu could see three rows of needle thin teeth. Further back in the mouth he saw a second set of jaws, the teeth inverted to prevent anything from escaping. These teeth were less needles and more human. They would have been completely human if not for the much longer canines and serrated edges. And still the creature was leading him forwards, towards itself.

It gave him a predator’s smile, black blood staining the forest of teeth. Jozu still could not free himself, could not break away. The hand led him to stand directly before the face. His mind was _screaming_ at him to move, run, kill, do _anything_ but remain here for another instant. And still he could not. The creature opened its jaws, head moving to bite Jozu’s arm. Jozu stared in horror. There was _nothing_ he could do. He couldn’t even access his devil fruit to protect himself. The pen fell out of Jozu’s hand and clattered on the floor. The sound seemed much louder in the dead silent room.

And it was enough to wake Jozu.

The creature gave an inhuman screech of frustration and it’s jaws snapped shut on Jozu’s arm. Jozu turned his arm to diamond a moment before the creature’s teeth met it, awaiting the satisfying crunch of the breaking teeth. And gasped in pain. He looked down to see the thing’s teeth sunk as deep as they could go into his arm. His _diamond_ arm. Thinking fast he turned his arm back to flesh and tore it away, wanting to get it out before it got caught by the second set of jaws. Jozu pulled back as hard as he could, and then retreated a few steps. The creature hissed around the bloody piece of meat in its jaws. Jozu glanced down at his injured arm, seeing a wide bite sized chunk missing. The edges of the wound were jagged, some strips of flesh hanging down. It was bleeding pretty badly. He winced and let it hang by his side.

The thing lifted its arms, placing both hands on the deck as if to lift itself to its feet. Jozu watched from a safe distance away. The creature was struggling, almost writhing in its dress, the two overly-long sleeves flapping around chaotically, leather straps wrapped around the entire thing.

 _Wait…That’s not a dress…_ Jozu’s eyes widened. _That’s a straight jacket._ Jozu looked at the writhing creature and saw that while this was a straight jacket, there was one big difference. It had eight sleeves, not two. Jozu backed up a little further, putting more distance between himself and the monster.

With his uninjured hand he quickly reached into his pocket and whipped out his den-den mushi. Keeping his eyes on the creature, he lifted the receiver to his mouth.

“Marco. There’s something down here. I need back-up _now.”_ There was a sound of ripping fabric and Jozu saw that all eight arms were now free. The thing seemed to sneer at him for a moment, inhumanly long tongue snaking out around its lips and teeth, licking Jozu’s spattered blood off its face. It lifted itself on all eight of its hands, limbs arching up like a spider’s legs. Jozu put himself into a loose stance, ready to react as the situation called for it. The spider-like abomination screech-hissed at him, then charged. The thing moved _impossibly_ fast, and Jozu barely had time to throw himself out of the way. He turned to face it just in time to be hit by a barrel the thing had flung after him, and it took him to the ground.

The thing charged at him again, and Jozu got back to his feet, again barely managing to dodge the creature. This time, the thing lashed out with one of its back arms, throwing Jozu a ways across the room. Jozu got back to his feet, climbing out of the wreckage of several crates.

“Come _on_ Marco, when I said now I meant _now_.”

 

* * *

 

_Several moments earlier_

 

“Marco. There’s something down here. I need back-up _now._ ” At the words, Macro stood. For a moment he debated sending one of the other commanders down, but Jozu had sounded serious. _Really_ serious. Marco grit his teeth and looked down at Ace. _Sorry, I have to go. I’ll be back soon._ He turned to Thatch.

            “You coming?” Thatch looked indecisive for a moment, but then his face set and he gave a determined nod. Marco smiled at him briefly and the two headed out the door. They moved at a quick pace, not quite running, but definitely at a good jog. After several moments they reached the door to the storerooms. On the other side, the sounds of movement and combat could be heard. Marco paused by the door for only a moment and looked to Thatch to make sure he was ready. Thatch nodded gravely and Marco threw open the door.

            Inside, Jozu was still trying to dodge the creature’s attacks. Jozu saw them, barely dodged another attack, and spoke.

            “It’s about damn _time.”_ He was panting heavily and his arm was bleeding badly. The room was in a state of mild wreckage, with broken barrels and crates strewn about the room haphazardly. A ways away, the creature had noticed them too. She was standing on all eight legs, swaying from side to side. Marco and Thatch stared at the thing in disgust.

            “What the hell _is_ that thing? I’ve never seen anything like it. How the hell did it manage to get on the ship?” Jozu shook his head, wiping sweat off his face.

            “I have no clue. But it _bit_ me. While I was in _diamond_ form.” Marco glanced away from the creature for a moment to look at Jozu’s arm.

            “Holy shit. Seastone?” Jozu shook his head.

            “Don’t think so. It’s not Haki either.” Thatch’s voice broke through their conversation.

            “Guys. It’s doing something weird.” All three turned their eyes to the creature. It had stopped swaying.  Now it was moving its two middle sets of arms strangely. Its skin was undulating and bulging on its torso. It noticed their watching and gave them a bloody smile. There was the sound of breaking and dislocating bones, and all watched in strange fascination as the thing retracted the four arms back inside itself. The sounds of snapping bones and ripping tendons continued coming from the creature and it slowly took on a new shape. With much snapping and popping, its spine straightened and it became more upright. Bipedal. Its last pair of hands now acted as feet, and with its unnaturally long legs it would be pretty damn fast. Its arms changed shape too. The skin on them started bulging strangely and one could see the arm bones from the retracted limbs being moved down the arms under the skin. Once the bones were in position, they pierced through the skin, accompanied by more black blood. Now on the back of the arms there protruded bony blades, slightly hooked back towards the creature. From the palms of both hands protruded a scythe-like blade of bone about six inches long. The fingers elongated to an unnatural length, each becoming more like a separate limb than a finger. The nails on the end of each grew longer, deadlier. The creature gave another hiss and bent low, swaying from side to side.

            It was on them almost instantly, one arm reaching forwards and lashing out with its fingers and blade. All dodged, but the suddenness left Thatch with a thin series of gashes across his chest and Jozu landed awkwardly, taking a moment to recover. Marco looked at Thatch.

            “Thatch, are you alright?” Thatch brought himself to his feet and nodded.

            “Damn this thing is fast. Maybe if we-“ He was cut off as the creature attacked again, this time seizing the distracted Marco and throwing him across the room. He crashed through a stack of boxes and was dazed for a moment. Thatch looked after him in alarm.

            “Marco!” Marco shoved some loose wood off himself and regained his feet.

            “M’alright.” Jozu had temporarily distracted the thing, keeping it away from the downed commander. Marco ran back across the room, coming to stand back beside Thatch. The thing focused its attention back on them, slashing out with its right hand. Both dodged, and Thatch quickly looped around to its back, drawn sword ready to stab the thing. Without even turning the thing caught the sword on its bone scythe. It closed its hand around the weapon and Thatch gasped, trying to pull it away. With a grinding screech the monster shattered the sword in its fist. Thatch was left to stare at a hilt with maybe 6 inches of blade attached, ending in a jagged point. The thing lashed out with its left hand at Thatch, and he barely dodged aside in time. During the whole engagement the thing had also been making an attack against Marco with its right hand, dealing out attacks faster than Marco could retaliate.

            Finally Marco found the opening he needed and turned into his bird form. He flew at the thing, attacking with open flame. The thing reached out an arm, taking a wide sweep at him. He dodged and hit the thing with blue fire. The creature shrieked and the smell of burning skin filled the air. Marco pressed on the offensive, keeping the creature from lashing out at the other two and slowly driving it back. Eventually the thing collapsed to the floor. Marco retained his bird form, but came to land beside Jozu and Thatch who were busy catching their breath. The creature before them shuddered, and with more sickening popping and snapping of dislocating bones, drew all its limbs into itself until it was just a mound of flesh with a head. And then it was still. They regarded it warily for the next few moments, but it made no further move. Finally, Marco sighed in relief.

            “Alright. I think its dead now.” The others began to relax as well, and now that there was no present danger, they felt curiosity. Thatch was looking at the thing confused.

            “What the hell was that thing? How in hell did something like that get on the ship without us knowing?” They heard the patter of light approaching footsteps and all whirled around, ready to fight again. Serpent froze, staring at three battle-ready commanders.

            “…If I move am I going to be killed instantly?” The three relaxed and Serpent padded forward, drawing closer to them. “What’re you all talking about?” She looked around the room. “What happened here? You sure did make a mess.” She rounded the corner of a crate and saw the dead monstrosity. She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, shit.” Marco snorted.

            “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.” Serpent’s eyes were focused on the monster.

            “No, I mean _oh shit.”_ Marco turned to look back at the monster to find the mound of flesh was undulating and rippling strangely. Marco turned back into a bird, taking to the air and circling it, regarding it warily. The thing continued its strange movements, accompanied by its sounds of popping bones and tearing muscles. It seemed to gather itself, condensing into a smaller lump than it had been before.

            And then it attacked.

            Eight arms came tearing out of the thing, all heading directly for the phoenix. Marco dodged as fast as he could, weaving and diving, but two of the hands caught him and slammed him into the floor, momentarily stunning him and causing him to change back into human form for an instant. But that was all it took. The creature was on him in less than a second. It seized him by the throat and held him off the ground against a wall. Marco choked and struggled to breathe. The creature faced him dispassionately for a moment, then brought its face close to Marco’s, neck stretching with more sickening pops.

            “The face of death is terrifying.” The voice hissed out from the inhuman face, dribbling across the air like oil. Marco struggled to breathe, feeling himself beginning to lose consciousness. The darkness at the edge of his vision was quickly moving inwards and his struggling grew weaker. He was slowly going numb. Sensation had faded entirely from his feet and legs, and his hands were quickly growing weaker. He felt himself slipping into the void. The room, the creature, the world, all of it was growing distant. Unimportant. Darkness closed in and he felt himself being gently pulled away into the blackness. Marco’s body went limp.

 

* * *

 

_Moments Earlier_

 

When Serpent had come up behind them, they had all just about jumped her. Thatch blamed it on adrenaline, and even now wanted to go over and stab that abomination about 50 times just to make sure it really was dead.

            “…If I move am I going to be killed instantly?” Thatch forced himself to calm down and back off, still clutching the broken sword in his had tightly. He took some deep breaths, trying to get his body and emotions under control. Serpent was looking at them curiously. “What are you all talking about?” Thatch watched her examine the room. “What happened here? You sure did make a mess.” As she came around and saw the beast her eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” Marco snorted, almost chuckling.

            “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.” Serpent’s eyes were still glued to the monster, and Thatch felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Serpent’s eyes widened further.

            “No, I mean _oh shit._ ” Thatch stared at her in confusion and Marco turned to look at the creature. His eyes widened too and he took to the air in bird form again. Thatch turned to the thing to see it moving and stared in shock.

            “It was dead. Marco killed it.” Serpent’s eyes showed deep concern.

            “Dammit. I had really, _really_ hoped this wouldn’t happen.” Thatch turned to look at her in confusion when the thing suddenly lashed out at Marco. Thatch stared in shock as it tore him out of the sky like a paper airplane, dashing him on the ground before pinning him against a wall, suffocating him. Thatch was frozen in shock, and everything was happening fast, too damn fast. Thatch could only watch in horror as Marco’s struggling grew weaker and weaker, the fight beginning to leave his eyes. Thatch was watching the whole thing, unable to help and unable to turn away.

            Serpent raked his leg with her claws.

            “Damn it all, Thatch, _do_ something!” The words and the pain woke Thatch out of his reverie and he threw himself across the room as fast as he could. _Hold on, Marco. Please hold on. I’m coming, I’m coming. Just a little longer. Please. Please please please please please._ Thatch reached the creature. It was focused solely on Marco now. Marco was still, terribly, horribly still. Thatch kept his attention on the monster and raised his broken sword high above his head, holding it with both hands. He brought it down hard and fast. It sunk in up to the hilt in the creature’s torso, right into where the human heart would be. The creature grew abruptly rigid. A screech rent the air, and the thing’s black blood came splattering out. Where it made contact with wood or flesh, it hissed, burning like acid. Some of it landed on Thatch’s arms and chest, and he grimaced, grunting in pain. He twisted the sword, driving it still deeper.

            “ _Die_ you son of a bitch!” The creature fell silent. A shudder passed up its spine. Its jaw hung slack and it trembled for a moment longer. Slowly, very slowly it crumpled to the ground.

So did Marco.

Thatch ran to his side, crouching down beside his terribly still brother. He felt desperation and horror and panic rising up in him. Marco wasn’t breathing. Thatch looked him up and down, searching for any grievous bodily injury. There were none. He grabbed Marco by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Wake up. Come on, wake up.” Marco flopped limply, and no trace of life echoed in him. Thatch’s shaking grew more frenzied and desperate. “Come on, Marco. Come on, come _on_. You made it, the thing’s dead. Come on, open your eyes, breathe, _breathe!”_ He felt tears forming in his eyes, throat and chest growing tight. He stopped shaking him and bowed his head. His voice was weak and choked. “Come on…Marco, please…please…”

Abruptly below him, Marco inhaled a great gulp of air and began panting furiously. His blue eyes opened and he continued gasping, bringing a hand up to rub his bruised neck. After a moment he brought himself into a sitting position, looking around the room. He saw the dead creature, sword hilt still protruding from its broken body. He turned to see Thatch staring at him with a truly unreadable expression. Thatch stared at him for a moment longer. With absolutely no warning he raised his hand and punched Marco across the jaw, hard. Marco fell back against the floor, bringing a hand up to his shocked face. Thatch glared down at him murderously.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking do that _again!_ ” Marco stared at him in shock from the floor. Thatch harshly pulled him up into a sitting position and hugged him tightly for a moment. Marco was damn confused now. Thatch pulled away and spoke quietly, barely audible. “…I thought you were dead…” Mentally Marco smiled. Thatch rarely outwardly showed it, but he worried almost constantly about everyone. Marco clapped a hand on Thatch’s shoulder and stood a little unsteadily. Thatch stood as well and looked at him with concern. Marco waved him off.

“I’m fine, Thatch. It’ll take more than one seriously fucked up spider to kill me.” Thatch smiled and nodded. The two began making their way across the mutilated room, walking around broken crates, shelves, barrels, boxes and such. They reached the door to find Serpent sitting in the center of the opening, looking up at them. They stopped. She regarded them carefully and seemed to come to a decision.

“…We need to talk about that thing.” Thatch and Marco exchanged a glance. Thatch spoke.

“You know what it was?”  Serpent nodded.

“That thing…it’s called the Black Widow.” Marco spoke next.

“Where did it come from?” Serpent looked away, seeming to frown.

“It’s...It came from…” She hesitated, seeming unsure of how to give them the news. Finally she sighed.

“That creature you just killed came from Ace’s mind.” Thatch and Marco stared at her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

“…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Serpent sighed and flicked her ears.

“Ace…Ace has a lot of raw potential for Haki. Far more than I think you realize. In his current state, all of that potential is left to manifest itself as it sees fit. What you just saw, what you just fought, was simply an illusion. A projection of Ace’s mind onto this world.” Thatch and Marco exchanged another look. Thatch gestured to the shallow scratches on his chest.

“Then what about this? How is it possible that an illusion could hurt me?” Serpent sighed again and rubbed her face in frustration.

“Okay, I take back what I just said. This isn’t Ace’s projection on the _world_ , it’s his projection on the minds of each and every person on this ship. Those scratches? Those aren’t really there. Your mind just thinks they are because of the interaction between the threat your mind saw harm you through a careful manipulation of Haki.” Thatch and Marco were both utterly confused again.

“So you’re saying Ace was controlling crazy spider-bitch over there?” Serpent shook her head vigorously.

“No, that is absolutely _not_ what I’m saying! In Ace’s current state he has no control over his Haki and its manifesting itself randomly, pulling random images from Ace’s current mind. I’m saying that this thing was a product of Wonderland.” She looked over to the dead spider. “And you’re damn lucky it wasn’t the Queen or the Hatter that showed up.” Both were looking at her in utter confusion.

“You’re saying that Ace thought up that _thing_? And what’s Wonderland?” Serpent looked between them.

“…Kind of. His imagination also manifested itself randomly, originally creating images that would be soothing or comforting, but now…Ace’s mind has been…changed. Affected by his recent experiences. His mind is…well. It’s not exactly a pleasant place to be right now.” She turned to look at the Black Widow, and Thatch and Marco followed suit. “Wonderland is where Ace has fled. But sanctuary has become prison, dream turned to nightmare. And now? Now it’s becoming reality.”


	13. Chapter 13

Thatch sighed.

            “How much longer is this going to take?” He was currently standing in the infirmary with a worried Selma examining his arms and chest. The burns from the Black Widow’s blood weren’t too serious, but there were rather a lot of them. To his right, Marco sat on one of the infirmary’s cots, a nurse checking his breathing and bruised neck. Jozu was also present, arm now wrapped in clean white bandages with the instructions to not remove them under any circumstances unless asked to do so by medical staff. Selma didn’t reply and dabbed some kind of cream onto a particularly nasty burn. Thatch looked around the room and sighed again.

            “I’m bored.” He sounded almost childish. Selma didn’t look up from what she was doing, rubbing more cream onto another burn.

            “Well suck it up, buttercup. You’re going to be here for a while.” Thatch gave a groan of dismay.

            “But _Selma_ …I have to go cook _dinner!_ ” Selma grit her teeth in annoyance. She looked up into Thatch’s face.

            “Do you want tissue necrosis? Would you prefer your skin to turn white, grey, or black?” She gestured to Thatch’s right hand, which was more seriously burned than his left. “Do you want to lose that hand? Do you want to have trouble breathing or cough up blood? No? Then let me do my damn job.” She went back to her work, Thatch staring at her in shock. Marco chuckled quietly from his position on the cot, shaking his head. He brought himself to his feet, rubbing his neck absently. His voice was a little hoarse from the abuse to his throat, and the nurse had told him to speak as little as possible. He crossed the room, smirking at Thatch as he passed. He stopped next to Ace’s bed. He looked down at the boy, face clouding with confusion. _How can what Serpent said be true? How could a monster like that be thought up by a 10-year-old boy?_ They had shut his eyes and now it looked like he was merely unconscious as opposed to just…gone.

            Thatch gave another dismayed sigh as Selma started wrapping his arms and torso in clean white bandages. _Gah…this is taking_ so long. Selma finished and stepped back. Thatch moved his arms experimentally, pleased to see that despite the bandages he retained a full range of motion. He grinned at Selma.

            “Thanks Doc!” She sighed, feigning annoyance, but Thatch saw her smile. She loved it when people referred to her as doctor. Thatch turned towards the door, intending to head down to the kitchens to begin preparing dinner, but he saw Marco standing completely still, head turned to the side, a look of deep concentration on his face. Thatch walked up to him, confused.

            “…What’s the matter, Marco?” Marco raised his hand, palm towards Thatch.

            “Quiet. Do you hear that?” Everyone in the room fell silent. After a moment, Thatch did hear it and his eyes widened. Barely audible, but there nonetheless. It was muted, as if coming from far away, but Thatch could still hear every note. Echoing from somewhere on the ship, a barrel organ was playing. Thatch’s brows furrowed.

            “I know that song…” _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady._ “But where’s it coming from?” Marco turned to him, face serious.

            “Let’s find out.” He glanced at Ace. “The last time I checked, nobody on this ship was in possession of a barrel organ.” He looked at Thatch meaningfully. Thatch swallowed and nodded, face set.

 

* * *

 

Thatch and Marco walked cautiously down the hallway, following the sound of the music. _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down._

_London Bridge is falling down, on my shoulders._

_The bone beneath will bend and break, bend and break, bend and break._

_The bone beneath will bend and break, and what comes after?_

Marco stopped for an instant and shook his head. _Those aren’t the lyrics. Where did those come from?_ Marco listened intently for any other sound. But besides the growing music, there were none. Marco and Thatch headed down hallway after hallway, searching for the source of the sound. Finally they stopped at the end of one corridor. Thatch’s face was dead serious.

            “Whatever it is, it’s in the galley.” They walked down this hallway even slower, senses attuned to any flicker of movement or hint of any sound besides the music.

            The double doors to the galley were wide open.

            Marco and Thatch carefully looked into the room. Both were shocked into stillness by what they saw. Inside the galley were over 100 people. All were dressed as if for a grand ball. The women wore hoop skirts that shone with color and the men elegant tailcoats of deep blue or black. The tables of the galley had been pushed to the sides of the room, arranged in long rows. Plates and silverware had been set out elegantly, all polished to a shine. Candelabras rested on the table, giving simple illumination over the pure white tablecloth. Hanging above the room was a grand crystal chandelier, casing the whole room in a yellow-gold light. Minute gemstones twinkled on the ladies dresses. The center of the room was clear, but for the people. They all moved dreamily, all in synchronization. They were all waltzing. There was one man who was not dancing, standing near the edge of the room. He was dressed nicely, though not as grandly as the dancers. He looked more like a butler or footman. He saw Marco and Thatch looking in the door and approached with a warm smile on his face. When he reached them, he bowed elegantly.

            “Good evening, gentlemen. You’re running very close to late. But Mr. Savage shouldn’t mind, dinner hasn’t been served yet. The party has already started, I hope you don’t mind.” Inside the room the music stopped. The man turned to face the room, smile on his face. “Ladies, gentlemen! Please.” The dancers had stopped moving the instant the music had stopped, freezing in their waltz positions, halfway through a step. Each smiled, turning to look at the man. They then turned back to look straight at their partners, resuming their earlier positions. Still moving in perfect synchronization, each raised a hand to their face.

            And pulled it off.

            Beneath the face, there was nothing but blackness. Each face retained its shape, like a porcelain doll’s. The faces still smiled, and the eyes were still bright and alive. Each hand moved in perfect, unnatural unison, raising their own faces away from themselves, turning the faces to look at themselves. Still moving at a dreamy pace, smiles still present on the disembodied faces, they reached out towards their partner. Each placed their own face over the cavity of their partner. As soon as this was finished, the butler clapped his hands twice and the music restarted. The dancers resumed their waltzing, each smiling with their partner’s face.

Marco and Thatch watched the whole thing with equal expressions of horror. The butler turned back to them, smiling.

“Please, do come in. I believe all the dancers have been paired with one another, but feel free to watch. Dinner will be served shortly.” The man turned away and walked back to his earlier position against the wall. Marco and Thatch remained outside the door, still staring at the dancers. All of them were acting perfectly normal, all moving in perfect harmony. Each smile was as genuine as anything, and as the music played each continued spinning and looping in their partner’s arms. Eventually the music stopped again, and again the dancers froze. The butler stepped forward, smiling.

“Ladies, gentlemen. Dinner is served.” Again each person turned their head to look at the man, smiling politely. Each man led each woman to a seat at one of the tables, pulling out her chair for her before she sat. Each man took his place beside his dancing partner, and there was no conflict over where someone should sit. All the women were seated at exactly the same time, everyone moving exactly the same way at exactly the same time. All the men sat at the same time, each pulling out their own chair and sitting at the same moment. Each hand grabbed a napkin and placed it on their lap. Each left hand grabbed an elegant silver fork, and each right hand lifted a smooth silver knife. The butler remained at the head of the room, smiling politely, watching the whole scene unfold. Thatch turned to Marco, speaking quietly so only he could hear.

“I don’t like this. I really, _really_ don’t like this.” Marco nodded, feeling his own trepidation and caution. He kept his eyes on the dancers, though. Each and every one of them was still smiling. Holding their forks and knives as if waiting for the cue to begin eating, but there was no food. The butler took a few steps forward so he was in the middle of the dance floor and snapped his fingers. Again all of the dancer’s faces turned towards him and smiled. They faced forwards again, still smiling, and each raised their right hand, turning the knife so that it pointed towards them. Still moving with dreamy slowness, still smiling, each slowly stabbed themselves in the chest. Marco and Thatch gasped.

Each person continued moving, none flinched or responded as if they felt pain. Each right hand proceeded, moving downwards and opening their own chest cavity with the knife. Blood stained the white dress shirts and colorful dresses, dowsing the tablecloth red as well. But each kept their small, elegant smile.  And all moved in perfect synchronization. Once the opening had been made, blood dribbling down the chest, each right hand set down its knife on the blood-covered tablecloth. Moving with dreamy slowness, all of them again lifted their now empty right hand, moving it towards their chests. They reached inside the gaping hole up to their wrists. Each hand slowly drew out, each holding something in their hands. Marco felt sick. Thatch gagged. The butler turned to them, still smiling.

“What’s wrong? I told you, dinner is served.” Still moving at their dreamy pace, each hand set a bloody heart on their plate, the hearts still beating sluggishly. The hands again picked up their knives. They turned the blades in their hands so that they were pointing downwards out of the bottom of the closed hands. Once more they raised the knives. The butler continued smiling, staring at Marco and Thatch. He too raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers again. In unison the knives moved, no longer at a hypnotically slow pace. There was a loud sound of metal meeting glass as each knife stabbed through each heart and collided with the plate beneath. The dancers went still. All were in exactly the same position. The hearts beat one last time, and finally lay still. The butler looked around the room, smile still on his face. There was a moment of terrible silence.

“…I suppose it’s my turn now.” He walked towards one of the tables, but stopped suddenly, smile falling from his face, eyes widening. “No. Wait. I don’t want-“ His body was tense and would twitch every now and again. He took a few halting steps forward, towards the table. He seemed to struggle against himself, again coming to a stop. “I don’t want to die! Mr. Savage, why? You promised…you said there would be no more fear. But the face of death is terrifying!” His body, seemingly against his will, continued towards the table. He reached it and pulled one of the knives out of the still hearts. As his hand raised up his eyes widened. “No! No! Mr. Savage, I don’t want to go there! The circus has ended and the animals lie starving in their cages, eyes rotted out of their heads! The darkness, the void, it scares me! I don’t want-“ Abruptly he fell silent. His struggling ceased and his body relaxed. Marco and Thatch looked at him from behind, not daring to move any closer.

His body moved, puppet-like, turning around to face Marco and Thatch. His eyes were hugely widened, white showing all the way around the iris. He gave them a grin. “But I forgot…how much fun the circus is.” He took a step towards them. “The lions were always my favorite.” Another step. “They had the most blood in them.” Another step. “A girl fell off the trapeze. Broke her leg.” The grin seemed to widen. “Couldn’t get away in time, you know.” He stopped about 10 feet away from them, raising the knife. “We all laughed like hyenas.” He brought the knife down, carving open his chest like the others and bringing out his heart, holding it in his left hand. “Because, as you know, _everyone’s_ happy these days.” As he said it his left hand closed slowly, crushing the heart in an iron grip. Blood poured from between his fingers and strips of flesh hung down. The man went still like the others, neither falling nor moving again. The grin remained frozen on his face, eyes staring sightlessly out of his head. Marco and Thatch stared at him for a moment, but he neither spoke nor moved. Thatch was the first to speak.

“…I think it’s over.” Marco nodded, feeling nausea. Thatch swallowed, then took a step forward into the room. Abruptly the candles on the chandelier and candelabras went out. All of the heads turned to look at Thatch, some of them turning unnaturally far, accompanied by the sound of breaking bones. They all grinned at him, faces starved and dead looking. The skin hanging off the faces was grey, the bones showing through. All were unnaturally thin and their clothes no longer looked elegant but were in stages of decomposition, moth-eaten and faded. Their eyes were gone, leaving only black cavities as if they had rotted out. Thatch gasped and stepped back and abruptly everything in the room vanished. Marco blinked, shook his head, and looked around the room. The tables were back where they normally went, the chandelier was gone, as well as the blood-covered silverware and tablecloth. The figures were gone too. Marco and Thatch stared around the room for another minute, then cautiously walked through it, searching for any remaining horrors. There were none. Both breathed a sigh of relief. Marco turned to Thatch.

“We have to tell Oyaji what’s going on. We also need to talk to Serpent, she’s the only one that seems to have any clue as to what’s going on with Ace right now. We’re going to need her help to get him back as soon as possible before these nightmares really hurt anyone.” Thatch nodded in agreement.

“I’ll find the cat, you go talk to Oyaji.” They headed off in separate directions, trying to push away the lingering horror of what they had seen.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Serpent found herself seated in the infirmary with Marco, Thatch, Whitebeard, Selma, and as many other people as could comfortably fit into the room. She sighed. _How is it possible that these people are so stupid?_ She had been trying to explain for the last half an hour about the various illusions now frequenting the Moby Dick.

            “No, like I said, these things aren’t real. Your mind, though, perceives them to be real. These things are a threat because if your mind thinks you’ve been killed, it’ll stop telling your heart to beat and then you’ll really die.”

            “That’s possible?” Serpent searched for the speaker in the crowd and faced them to address them personally.

            “Yes. It’s basically the same premise as a dream. If you see yourself die in a dream your mind will shut down. Basically, by waking Ace, we’d also be stopping these creatures from appearing because his Haki would be back under control and not just throwing itself about.” Serpent’s eyes narrowed. “There’s just one problem, though.” Marco, who was leaning against a wall, turned to look at Serpent.

            “And what would that be?” She looked to him

            “Ace has been trying to come back all this time. But something is holding him prisoner inside his own mind.” Everyone looked troubled. Serpent looked between Marco and Thatch. “You two have seen both of the apparitions since Ace left, can you tell me anything that might give us a clue as to who’s holding him there?” Marco and Thatch exchanged a glance. Thatch spoke.

            “The Black Widow was trying to kill us the entire time she was around, so I don’t think that helps at all. With the last one…I don’t know what to tell you. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Marco’s face was troubled, deep in thought. Serpent looked to Thatch.

            “Well, what can you tell me about the figures you saw in the galley? Was there anything strange about any of them?” Thatch quirked an eyebrow.

            “You mean besides the fact that they all removed their own faces and then tore out their hearts?” Serpent rolled her eyes.

            “Yes, Thatch. Besides that. And the sarcasm is my job, not yours.” Marco blinked and looked up.

            “Serpent, I don’t know if this means anything to you, but both the Black Widow and the butler spoke of the fear of dying using exactly the same words. ‘The face of death is terrifying’.” He paused. Serpent was looking away, and she also seemed to be thinking, running the words through her mind. Marco thought back over the details of the two encounters. “Also, I don’t know if it’s important, but the butler mentioned someone named Mr. Savage.” Serpent’s eyes snapped back up onto him. Her voice was intense and she spoke quickly.

            “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Marco was startled, but nodded. Serpent exhaled slowly, blinking several times. “This is bad.” Thatch was looking at her in concern.

            “What does that mean?” Serpent took a deep breath.

            “Mr. Savage is not one of the creations of Ace’s imagination. He was planted there, and made to look so he would blend in with the others.” Marco was confused.

            “What do you mean ‘planted?’” Serpent was pacing now.

            “Mr. Savage isn’t part of Ace’s psyche. He’s basically the accumulation of fear, violence, and hatred from when-“ Serpent cut herself off, continuing to pace agitatedly. “The problem is that he’s incredibly strong. Ace isn’t going to be coming back without our help. Mr. Savage wants to take over Ace’s mind. It’s-“ Selma shivered.

            “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?” Serpent froze, looking about the room quickly. Her eyes locked on a certain point and she gasped, darting across the room. Everyone turned to see where she was going. Serpent stopped in front of the room’s mirror. She was staring at it intently. Marco looked at the mirror itself and blinked. The mirror was no longer showing a reflection of the room, but was more like a window. Through the glass was a thick shroud of mist, and Marco couldn’t see farther than 10 feet. The ground was black and rocky. Marco saw something moving in the mist, a hazy shape drawing nearer. His eyes widened and he moved closer to the mirror.

            Ace ran at full force. Fear was like a brick in his chest, but he forced himself on. He was being led somewhere safe, he was told. He panted heavily as he was led through the mist, the cold air biting his lungs. Behind him he could hear the footsteps. His fear doubled. He pushed himself to run even faster. He looked ahead of him and blinked. _Please let that be what I think it is._ He drew closer and felt a touch of hope burn inside him. _Yes. It really_ is _a looking glass._ His guide tried to lead him on, but he pulled the two of them to a stop just before it. Ace touched the mirror’s surface, shutting his eyes and concentrating deeply for a moment. He looked back up at the mirror, still panting heavily. Through it he could see the infirmary of the Moby Dick. The people through the glass were staring at him in wonder and astonishment. Whitebeard moved towards the mirror, face showing deep concern. Ace pressed his hands up to the glass, and Whitebeard brought his own hands up opposite them. Ace looked up into the larger man’s eyes, terror plain on his face. Ace looked over his shoulder, hearing the footsteps fast approaching. He felt his terror growing. His guide tugged at his wrist.

            “We have to go. Now.” Ace shook them off and blew on the mirror, fogging part of it over. He hastily brought his and up, writing quickly. The footsteps grew closer, moving incredibly fast.  He spun around, turning to face his follower. It charged at him full force, and he threw himself to the side, barely dodging. It turned to look after Ace, about to follow him, but it seemed to sense the people watching it. It turned back to the mirror, glaring out at the people assembled in the infirmary and Whitebeard, who was still closest to the glass. It brought its hand up and slammed it forward, completely shattering the mirror.

            Marco stared at the mirror in shock. Because of the fog and darkness, he hadn’t been able to see what it was that was pursuing Ace. Ace’s fear-filled face was frozen in Marco’s head. His chest had been heaving, as if he’d been running hard. When whatever it was following Ace had smashed the mirror, the image had gone out, replaced by the mirror’s usual reflection. Thatch turned to look at Serpent.

            “What was that?” Serpent was staring at the mirror, shock written on her face.

            “That…that was Mr. Savage.”

Marco continued to stare at the mirror, eyes wide. He barely heard the conversation going on in the background. It seemed distant and unimportant. Ace’s hasty handwriting was etched into his mind. That one word.

_HELP!_


	14. Chapter 14

When Ace had come running up to the mirror, Whitebeard had felt the parent in him surge. Whitebeard had crossed the room almost instantly, pressing his hands up against the glass opposite Ace’s. Looking into Ace’s face he could plainly see fear bordering on panic. Whitebeard had wanted nothing more than to reach through the glass and hold the frightened child, _his son,_ and protect him from all harm. To tell him that everything was going to be all right and make him believe it.

But he couldn’t. For the first time, Edward Newgate had been completely powerless.  Ace had looked up into his face, desperate to be saved and Whitebeard hadn’t been able to do it. He saw something flicker in Ace’s eyes, a trace of understanding, of sympathy. And then Ace had gone, leaving a last plea for salvation.

Now Whitebeard stood by Ace’s unconscious form, staring down at him in thought. Behind him, he could hear Serpent and Thatch talking. Thatch was gesturing agitatedly.

“Why would Ace’s own mind rebel against him and trap him like this?” Serpent was pacing. Whitebeard looked at her and realized she was just as worried about Ace as he was. She spoke without stopping her pacing.

“Mr. Savage isn’t something that’s naturally part of Ace’s mind. He’s…a corruptive influence. When Ace first created Wonderland, it was as a refuge. As Mr. Savage gained sway in Wonderland, he was able to start breaking it down. He’s twisted the images that were meant to comfort Ace into real atrocities. Now Wonderland is a mass of horrors and nightmares. We have to be…delicate with how we deal with this.” Thatch was confused.

“Why?” Serpent stopped her pacing, looking directly at Thatch.

“Because if we aren’t careful, Ace is going to go insane.” Thatch gaped.

“…What kind of insane are we talking here?” Serpent exhaled.

“Not the pretty kind. Basically, Ace’s personality, in essence, his soul, is what we need to restore. If we don’t hurry, one of Wonderland’s other inhabitants could gain control of Ace instead. We have to get to and destroy Mr. Savage before he can take over.” Serpent hesitated. “There’s two problems, though.” Marco turned around, coming to face her.

“And what would those be?” Serpent looked to him.

“The first is that in order to get Ace back, some of you are going to have to follow him into Wonderland. I can get you in, but…” She trailed off. Thatch was confused.

“Then what’s the problem?” Serpent sighed.

“In order to get into Ace’s mind, he’d have to deeply trust you. _Deeply_ trust you. And…after the incident with Jozu, I’m not sure if it’ll be possible for anyone on this ship to get in.” Marco straightened his shoulders.

“We have to try, in any case. What’s the other problem?” Serpent turned to look at him.

“The problem is…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know who Mr. Savage is. He could be any of Wonderland’s inhabitants. He’s well disguised. At this point, the only one who knows is Ace. When Mr. Savage finds out you’re in Wonderland and about what you’re trying to do, he’ll come after you, trying to kill you.” Marco frowned.

“That is a problem. Not only do we not know who or what we’re looking for, at any point we could be attacked and have no idea who the enemy was until the knife was in our back.” Serpent nodded seriously. She stood, walking over to Ace’s bed. She jumped up next to him, padding over the mattress until she was close to his head.

“Alright. I'm going to use Haki to see who, if any, Ace is willing to let in.” Thatch blinked.

“Wait, you can use Haki?” Serpent rolled her eyes.

“Well, duh. How do you think I’m able to talk?” Serpent turned back towards Ace, shutting her eyes and extending her consciousness towards him. The room fell silent for several moments. Serpent blinked, opening her eyes. “I don’t believe it…he’s letting you in.” Selma walked towards Ace, looking at Serpent.

“I’d like to be on the expedition. Ace might need medical attention.” Serpent looked up at her with sympathetic eyes.

“That’s a sensible thought, but Ace isn’t letting all of you in.” Selma’s brows furrowed.

“Then who?” Serpent turned towards Marco.

“You.” She turned to Thatch. “And you.” The room fell silent again. Marco and Thatch were both surprised. When he had been awake, Ace hadn’t exactly been…openly friendly. And yet here he was, entrusting his future, life, and sanity to them. There was a pause. Marco took a breath and stepped forward.

“Alright then-“ Serpent raised her tail.

“Wait. There’s one more.” The room fell silent again, holding its breath. Serpent turned, a small, pensive smile on her face. “You.” Whitebeard blinked. He and Ace hadn’t even spoken since Ace had been shrunk. Once he overcame his surprise, he stepped forwards as well.

“Very well. How soon can we leave?” Serpent looked at him in approval.

“Whenever you like. There’re just a few things you need to know before you go. Before going into Wonderland, you’re going to pass through Ace’s memories. Most of them will just blur by and you’ll only get an image or impression, but you will see all of the memories leading up to when Ace first went into Wonderland. As with most PTSD patients, Ace doesn’t like to relive the traumatic events immediately. You’ll relive all the memories leading up to it. When you’re watching the memories, you’ll be standing off to the side observing. Ace will neither see, hear, or in any way sense you, nor will anyone else in the memory. Once you get to Wonderland itself, absolutely do _not_ eat _anything_. If you do, you’ll be stuck in Ace’s mind. Forever. Also…there’s a possibility that from here on out your mind will be permanently linked to Ace’s. Most of the time it won’t affect you at all, but you’ll be able to communicate with Ace long-distance without any kind of vocalization and see what’s going on in his psyche unless he blocks you out.” They nodded. Serpent stood and stretched. “All right, then. Let’s get started. Oh, also. If at any time you want to pull out and come back here, let me know. In the middle of memories you won’t be able to pull out, but any time Ace goes to sleep, that’s the end of a memory and I can pull you out safely. Make sense?” The three nodded. Serpent flicked her ears.

“Good. Well, then, come here.” The three stepped closer, gathering around Ace’s bed. Serpent looked at each in turn.

“Ready?” They nodded, faces serious. “Alright. Close your eyes.” They all did.  Serpent closed her eyes too, calming her mind and focusing deeply. “Good. Now I need you all to just let your minds go blank. If it helps, imagine yourself floating in darkness.” They did. Serpent opened her eyes again, keeping the focus intact. She jumped silently down from the bed. She strode over to Thatch first. When she reached him, she reached up one forepaw and touched him gently on the leg. He crumpled to the floor. Serpent smiled to herself and nodded, heading over to Marco. She touched him and he also collapsed. She approached Whitebeard last. She paused before touching him, speaking quietly so only he could hear.

“…Bring him back, okay?” Her voice was tight with worry. Whitebeard smiled and gave a tiny nod. She touched him and he, too collapsed.

 

* * *

 

Images, scents, sounds, textures, emotions, all flew by in a blur. Within moments of each other, Marco saw Ace as a toddler, walking hesitantly across a wooden floor then, abruptly, a somewhat older Ace holding a baby with wide brown eyes and a mess of black hair. He watched Ace age, growing taller, stronger, faster. He saw all the little dramas of Ace’s life unfold. The first time Ace caught a wild animal in the woods near his house, making a birthday cake for Luffy’s 4th birthday, the year Ace and Luffy’s house had burned down in winter and they had to hike through snow for 2 days to get to Fuushia Village, Shanks’ arrival at the tiny island, the time Ace had been shot protecting Luffy from bandits, everything spun and whirled by in a myriad of colors. Marco saw a story he had never known existed, watching his brother’s childhood.

Finally the images stopped, and Marco realized he was standing on a grassy hill. Beside him were Thatch and Whitebeard. They too looked a little overwhelmed by everything they had just seen. Looking around, Marco recognized the area as a favorite place of Ace’s. It was a cliff, an outcropping, really, that overlooked the sea. It was on the western side of the island, so it had a lovely view of sunsets. Marco looked around, searching for Ace who he knew must be close by.

Ace hiked through the woods, looking around himself. _All right, where are you?_ The sun had set maybe 10 minutes ago, and the warm summer night was full of the chirping of crickets. Ace saw a dim glow coming from a field in front of him. _Ah. There you are._ He moved forward into the grassy expanse, not seeing Marco, Thatch or Whitebeard.

The field was full of little globules of light. They floated lazily through the air, drifting around like leaves on a lake. Ace approached slowly, coming up next to a clump of the lights. He lifted the jar he had brought with him, swinging it quickly, scooping up several of the lights and screwing on the lid before they could escape. Ace lifted the jar close to his face, grinning at the fireflies inside. _Luffy’s going to love this._ He pulled a small knife from his pocket, poking holes in the lid. Looking up, he took a moment to observe the sky. _Looks like it’s really going to start raining soon. I’d better hurry._ He turned around, heading back into the woods to begin the hike home.

As Ace neared the house, he looked up and blinked in surprise. The lights in the house were already lit. Ace’s brows furrowed. _I left Luffy at Makino’s…_ He glanced to the pier, and instantly his mood plummeted. _Oh shit._ Anchored in the harbor was a large marine vessel. _He’s going to be pissed at me for being late for dinner._ Ace sighed and prepared himself for a long and pointless argument. It really was a regular occurrence. Whenever Garp came home he and Ace would always get in at least one fight while he was there. Ace resigned himself to this fact and stepped through the door.

Shutting the door behind him, he turned around to face Garp who was seated at the kitchen table. His arms were folded across his chest. Seated next to him was Makino. On Garp’s other side Luffy sat, pouting. Garp frowned at Ace.

“Where have you been? You’re late.” Ace sighed.

“I was just getting something.” He turned to Makino, bowing politely. “I’m very sorry for being late. I didn’t know you would be joining us for dinner.” Makino smiled.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s perfectly-“ Garp’s hand pounded on the table.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Ace ignored him, walking up to Luffy. He smiled and brought out the jar. Luffy gasped and stared at it in wonder, studying the glowing insects contained inside. Ace smiled warmly at his little brother.

“Try not to break the jar, okay? You can put these in your room.” Luffy grinned and scampered out of the kitchen up to his room. Ace turned back to Garp. Garp was frowning at him.

“Why would you give him a jar of bugs?” Ace crossed his arms, smile falling from his face.

“Luffy likes to have a light in his room at night. It keeps him from having nightmares.” Garp scowled.

“My grandson doesn’t need a _nightlight_. I raised him to be a strong marine, no marine I know is afraid of the dark.” Ace scoffed, feeling outrage.

“You? Raise him? Please. You’ve had nothing to do with his growing up.” Garp scowled.

“I’m his grandfather. Of course I’ve raised him.” Garp’s temper was rising, and so was Ace’s. Ace’s arms fell back to his side, fists clenched.

“Fine. Prove it. What’s his favorite color? What was his first word? How old was he when he _walked_ for the first time? Huh? Oh, _wait_. You weren’t _here_ for any of that. Excuse me, I forgot. Honestly, how can you even _claim_ to be a part of his life?” Garp stood. Luffy came back into the room, but neither noticed him. Garp glared at Ace, and Ace glared back just as hard. Garp spoke.

“I’m still better than you. I’m his family, at least.” Ace stepped back as if struck. Makino stared at Garp in shock. Garp continued, anger driving him past all boundaries. “The best you can do is _pretend_ to be part of his family. But it’s a lie. If he knew the truth, he’d hate you too.” Ace’s eyes were wide and he stared at Garp. Garp pressed on. “This entire world hates you, it’s about time you faced up to that. Even your father-“ Some of Ace’s anger returned.

“If you think I give a _fuck_ about _my father-_ “ Ace rarely swore, and Makino blinked in shock. Garp cut him off, continuing his angry speech.

“And it’s not just your father. Your mother must hate you now too. She’s _dead_ because of you. Her bones are sitting on some god-forsaken spit of _rock_ , unmarked and unburied because _you existed._ Nobody is _ever_ going to care about you. You’ll never find kindness or love. Every _instant_ you live, you live in solitude. You’re going to die young and you’re going to _die_ _alone_.” Ace stood, head bowed, hands clenched so hard into fists his arms were trembling. His head was bowed, bangs covering his eyes, scowling. Makino stared at him, waiting for his response. A moment of silence passed. Ace’s voice was hesitant and uneven.

“I…” Ace’s scowl deepened, his head bowing further. A single tear slid down his face. He looked up, tear-filled, hurt eyes meeting Garp’s. Instantly Garp’s anger melted. Ace squeezed his eyes shut. “I wish I had never been born!” Ace spun and ran out the door. The rain had started, and it was coming down in buckets. Everyone stared after him. Makino spun around and slapped Garp hard across the face.

“How could you do that?! You told me the whole story, how you promised Rouge to raise him like your own, but would you do that to Luffy? Take his greatest fear and insecurity and turn it against him? How _could_ you?!” She turned and ran after Ace, calling after him. She had taken maybe 20 steps when she ran into a man. She stumbled and would have fallen but he caught her before she tumbled to the ground. Makino looked up to see Shanks’ face staring down at her. He looked almost as surprised as she felt.

“Makino, what are you doing out in this rain?” Makino blinked, taking a moment to get over her shock, she suddenly remembered.

“Ace! He and Garp got in a fight and he got upset and ran away! I-I need to find him before he gets hurt or sick.” Shanks’ face had gone dead serious. He thought for a moment, then spoke.

“Makino, what direction did Ace run?” Makino pointed in the general direction Ace had gone. Shanks noted the direction in his head, then turned to look back at Makino. “Alright. Thank you. I’ll go find Ace. You stay here and look after Luffy until I get back.” Makino nodded and the two headed off in their separate directions.

Ace ran full-tilt. He sobbed as he ran, tears mixing with the rainwater flowing down his face. _It’s…It’s not true. It’s not._ He desperately tried to convince himself that Garp had been lying, that the words had just been insults and nothing more. He paid no attention to where he was going, smashing haphazardly through the trees and undergrowth of the forest. He came out into the field where he had caught the fireflies earlier that evening, though it now felt an eternity ago. Still running full speed, he tripped over a rock and fell hard, skidding a little on the ground. He pushed himself into a sitting position, folding his legs up against his chest and resting his forehead on his knees. He continued crying, bitter tears flowing down his face. He was soaked to the skin but had no real desire to do anything about it.

Ace heard footsteps approaching and straightened, hastily wiping away his tears and trying to look as if he hadn’t just been crying. Shanks sat down beside Ace, soaking wet as well. Ace had his face turned mostly away from Shanks, trying to hide the evidence of his tears.

“Captain…I-I didn’t know you’d be back this soon.” Shanks sighed. Ace had developed a habit of hiding his emotions when he was upset or sad. At first he only did it to Luffy, keeping his younger brother protected from all of his worries, but now he did it towards nearly everyone. Ace had had to be an adult from a very young age, and he seemed to believe that part of that was having to be strong for everyone, taking all of their problems in but never sharing the burden of his own. It made Shanks…sad. Shanks studied Ace for a moment, coming to a decision. He reached over and scooped Ace up, one hand near Ace’s shoulders and the other under his knees. He lifted the boy and cradled him against his chest. Ace sat stiff for a moment, unsure. Shanks spoke quietly.

“Ace…you’re always so strong for Luffy, but no one’s ever been there to be strong for you, have they?” He felt Ace shudder, and looking at his face Shanks was near sure Ace was trying hard not to cry, though it was hard to tell in the rain. When he spoke, his voice was shaky.

“Shanks…” He gave a suppressed sob. “…do you hate me?” Shanks blinked.

“Of course not. Why would I ever hate you?” Tears were definitely coming down Ace’s face again.

“Because everyone does. I’m-I’m alone. I’ll always be alone.” Ace put his face in Shanks’ shoulder, sobbing in earnest once again. “…I’m going to die alone.” Shanks inhaled, squeezing Ace slightly. He came to a decision.

“No, Ace. You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there for you. You and Luffy both.” Ace continued crying into Shanks shirt, and when he spoke, his words were muffled and indistinct.

“You promise?” Shanks held Ace tighter.

“Yes. I promise.”

They stayed in their positions for maybe 15 minutes. Shanks fell into a kind of trance, what with the rain and the wind and Ace’s crying. It was the quiet that roused him from this trance. He looked around, feeling like something was missing. Looking down he saw that Ace had stopped crying. Shanks turned him slightly so he could see his face. Ace’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed. Shanks chuckled to himself and stood, ignoring his creaking and stiff joints.

“Oh, Ace. Only you could fall asleep in a torrential downpour.” He began making the long walk back.

Makino met them at the door. Her face was deeply worried, but when she saw Shanks holding Ace, she heaved a sigh.

“Oh thank God.” She looked up at Shanks, who was dripping wet. She smiled, seeming to sense the connection that had passed between the two. She stepped aside. “Please, come in. We need to get you dried off before you catch your death.” Shanks stepped inside, carrying the sleeping Ace. Makino studied him for a moment. “Ace’s room is the second door on the left upstairs.” Shanks nodded to her and walked up the stairs, moving slowly in an effort to keep them from creaking. He walked down the hall to Ace’s room, opening the door with an elbow. Inside was a relatively simple room. One wall had a bookshelf on it full of books of varying thicknesses. The rain drummed against the room’s window, which overlooked the main road of Fuushia Village, and, eventually, the great grey expanse of the sea. The rain drummed against the window rhythmically. Shanks walked towards Ace’s bed. Lightning flashed in the sky, followed by a loud peal of thunder. The bed gave a squeak of fear. Shanks blinked in surprise, then allowed a smile to form on his face.

“Pirates can’t be afraid of thunder, Luffy.” The wording was similar to one of his usual jabs at the boy, but his tone was soft. Luffy’s head came peeking out defiantly from under the covers.

“I-I’m not afraid! Who’s afraid of a little thunder?” Lightning flashed again and Luffy jumped, covering his head with the blankets. Shanks suppressed a laugh and walked over to the bed.

“Hey Luffy, scoot over.” Luffy did, and Shanks gently set Ace down, bringing the blankets up around him. Luffy latched on to Ace, and Ace threw an arm over him. Luffy was asleep almost instantly. Shanks smiled fondly at the brothers. As quietly as he could, he stepped away from the bed and walked out of the room. He shut the door quietly behind him and walked down the stairs. Makino was in the living room, standing next to the fireplace. She smiled as Shanks walked in.

“…Thank you.” Shanks shrugged.

“No problem.” Makino studied him for a moment. She nodded her head at Shanks’ coat.

“Give me that. If you keep wearing it while it’s all wet, it’ll do you more harm than good.” Shanks smirked and handed her the coat. She hung it up near the fireplace to dry. “I think you should stay here for tonight. It’s really raining out there, and the last thing you need is to get wet again.” Shanks chuckled and nodded.

“Alright, where should I sleep?” Makino nodded to the couch.

“This should be fine, right?” Shanks smiled and nodded again. “Great. I’ll go get you a blanket.” Shanks lay down on the couch, folding his hands behind his head. The image of Luffy and Ace sleeping wandered into his mind and Shanks smiled, closing his eyes.

_Yes. I will always be here when you need me. That’s a promise._


	15. Chapter 15

Shanks woke up to the sound of gentle knocking on the door. He drowsily got off the couch and stumbled over to the door, opening it and coming face to face with Makino. She had a basket on one arm, and one hand was still raised, prepared to knock on the door again. Shanks blinked sleepily at her a few times. She smiled and chuckled.

            “Not used to getting up this early, captain?” She gently pushed past the still half-asleep pirate and into the house. “I thought I’d bring you all breakfast this morning since Ace is probably going to want to sleep in.” She set the basket she was carrying on the table and opened it. She brought out fruit salad, scrambled eggs, toast and jam, and a pot of coffee and cups. She poured a cup of coffee, stirred in a little milk and sugar, and handed it to Shanks. “That should wake you up a little. Maybe make you at least semi-cognizant.” She was smiling at him amusedly. Shanks took a sip of the coffee and sat down in one of the table’s chairs. Several moments of silence passed with Shanks drinking his coffee and Makino unloading breakfast. Once she was done, she sat down across from him. Shanks was remembering what had happened last night, one bit of conversation repeating over and over in his head. Taking a last sip of coffee, Shanks set down his cup and looked up at Makino.

            “Makino…there’s something I need to ask you about.” Makino looked at him in surprise. “Last night Ace said something, and I don’t understand what he meant by it.” Makino looked troubled, but nodded.

            “I’m not sure how much help I can be, but I’ll try to answer your question.” Shanks looked down at the table for a moment, then back up at Makino. His face was serious.

            “Last night Ace asked me if I hated him. I said no, and asked him why he would say that, and he said everyone hated him. Why would he say that?” Makino was looking at him in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and looked away.

            “I’m sorry, but…it’s not my secret to tell.” Shanks opened his mouth to speak again, but just then the sound of footsteps came charging down the upstairs hall. Makino and Shanks turned to see Luffy come running down the stairs, still wearing his pajamas and his hair still mussed from sleep.

            “I smell food! Is breakfast ready?” He was grinning widely, nearly bouncing with excitement. Makino laughed and stood from the table.

            “Yes, Luffy. Help yourself.” The boy practically leapt across the room, hands reaching for a plate. He froze for an instant, face showing deep concentration, then, very carefully picked up the plate. Makino gave him an amused look. “What’s the matter, Luffy?” The boy looked to her, but then went back to staring at the plate in his hands seriously, still moving in slow motion.

            “Ace told me to be _very_ careful when carrying glass stuff.” He continued moving slowly, carrying the plate with both hands and staring at it as if he thought it might try to jump out of his hands and break itself on the floor. Shanks laughed and Makino giggled.

            “Is Ace awake yet?” Luffy shook his head, never once taking his eyes off the plate. After what seemed like an eternity, Luffy reached his place at the table, setting the plate gently on the wooden surface. As soon as the plate was no longer in his hands, he leapt up into his chair and began eating ferociously, nearly inhaling the food. Makino laughed and shook her head. She turned to Shanks.

            “I’m going to go check on Ace. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She walked across the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at Luffy before heading upstairs. Once upstairs, she walked as quietly as she could down the hallway, opening Ace’s door slowly and sticking her head inside. Ace was still sleeping, facing away from Makino. His limbs were flung ungracefully and the blankets were half-falling off the bed.  Makino smiled and tiptoed across the room, standing over Ace. Moving gently, she pulled the blankets back onto the bed and over the sleeping boy. He stirred a little, making a small noise and rolling over, but he didn’t wake.  Makino smiled again, and turned away, heading back towards the door. She heard a rustling coming from behind her.

            “Makino…? ‘S that you?” She turned back around to see Ace push himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes blearily. Makino walked back over to him.

            “Yeah. I brought you and Luffy breakfast.” He seemed to wake up a little at that, turning to look at her.

            “Oh, you didn’t have to do that! I could have made breakfast…” Makino smiled. A faint knocking sound came from downstairs. Makino turned her head briefly, but then looked back at Ace. He didn’t seem to have heard it. She shook her head, returning to the conversation.

            “I know, I just figured you’d like to sleep in a little for once.” Ace blinked, looking around the room absently.

            “Thank you. Is Luffy already up?” Makino nodded. Ace looked out the window, seeing the sun already fairly high in the sky. “…What time is it?” Makino turned away and began walking back towards the door.

            “It’s probably about 10 o’clock. Luffy’s downstairs eating breakfast. Shanks is here too. You should come down and get some food before it’s all gone.” Ace chuckled, rubbing his eyes again.

            “Yeah. I’ll be down in just a minute.” Makino headed back out the door and downstairs, still smiling. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, shocked. The knocking she had heard was someone at the door. Shanks had answered. That had led to the current situation.

 Garp stood, glaring at Shanks. Shanks glared back just as hard if not harder. Garp took a step forwards.

            “I don’t care what you say, pirate. I need to talk to him.” Shanks blocked the door, voice angry.

            “I already told you, he doesn’t want to speak to you right now.” Shanks and Garp went back to glaring at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally Garp’s glare broke and he looked down, guilt on his face. His voice came out quiet.

            “Don’t you get it? I’m trying to _apologize._ I’m leaving on assignment again and I…I have to tell him I’m sorry before I go.” Shanks didn’t step down. His anger didn’t fade.

            “Look, I don’t know exactly what was said last night, only that I have _never_ seen Ace that upset. You don’t _deserve_ his forgiveness. Ace has raised Luffy all this time, took a _bullet_ for him three months ago from the bandits you were oh-so-sure didn’t live on this island, and the only way you thank him is by tearing him apart? I had never seen Ace cry before last night. Not once. Not when he was shot, not when Sophie died, never. He’s not your grandson because you don’t _deserve_ him as a grandson. He’s more family to Luffy then you’ll ever be, and if he hadn’t been here all this time, Luffy would probably be dead since you don’t _care_ enough to actually support either of them. Normal 10-year-olds are worrying about what they’re getting for their birthday. Ace worries about what he and Luffy are going to eat- _if_ they’re going to eat-come winter. Last night Ace told me he was going to die alone. Those don’t exactly seem like _his words_ to me. For once why don’t you actually _think_ about what you’ve done and then you can come here on your goddamned knees and _beg_ for his forgiveness. Now get out.” Garp’s head was hanging low, face turned away in shame. He nodded brokenly to the pirate, then turned away. Shanks shut the door.

            “Who was that?” Shanks turned to see Ace walking down the stairs. Shanks put a smile on his face.

            “Nobody. Just a traveler looking for a sibling of theirs. Wrong address.” Ace blinked.

            “Oh.” Shanks thought he saw a hint of disappointment in Ace’s eyes, but Ace turned away, facing turned the kitchen. “Whatever you made, Makino, it sure smells delicious!” Ace went into the kitchen, faking a smile. Inside, he was a mishmash of emotions, but mainly anger and a little bit of sorrow. _Not even going to apologize, are you Garp?_ The last words of his and Garp’s argument replayed in his head, and the smile faltered for a moment. Seeing Luffy, he shook away his dark thoughts and faked an accusing look.

            “You’d better have saved me some of those scrambled eggs.” Luffy swallowed, then pointed to the bowl on the table. Ace looked in and saw there were, in fact, some scrambled eggs left. He smiled. “Good.” Ace grabbed his own plate and began eating. No one looked out the window or saw the marine ship sailing away, its forlorn officer staring back at the island with guilt-ridden eyes.

 

* * *

 

Ace’s clock woke him up at 1 AM the next morning. He reached out blearily, groping around until he found it and turned off the alarm. The ringing bells stopped instantly. Ace sat up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced out the window, seeing the stars and moon shining brightly over the quiet sea. Rubbing his face once more he stood, making his way across the room. He walked carefully, stepping over the boards he knew would creak, and made his way downstairs. He splashed his face with some cold water, waking himself up a little. He grabbed a cloth shoulder bag hanging on a peg near the door and headed outside into the chilly air. He shivered as a cool breeze hit his wet face and began hiking into the woods.

            The trees stood tall and pale in the moonlight, their shadows a stark black contrast to their silvery bark. The moonlight caused a spattering of pearly medallions of light on the forest floor. It was utterly silent, save the gentle sighing of quiet winds through the opalescent leaves. Most animals were asleep by now, but as Ace walked he passed a raccoon, its masked face staring with garnet eyes out of a nearby bush. The hike was hard, but Ace didn’t mind. The chill air kept him cool and the moon shone bright enough that he could see without any other source of light.

            Ace was panting when he reached the timberline. He had been hiking for nearly two hours, and the moon was getting lower. Leaning against a tree, Ace took a moment to catch his breath. Looking out at his destination, he smiled. _It was worth the hike._ The sinking moon shone off the broad flat leaves, the few remaining white flowers seeming like small pearls dotting the field. Ace walked out into the ankle-tall plants, cool dew staining the bottom of his pants with water.

            The field was full of wild strawberries.

            Ace started at one side of the field, picking the bright crimson fruit and putting them into the bag. His work put him into a kind of trance, calming his mind with the hypnotic repetition. The emotional stress from the day before yesterday slid off his shoulders like rainwater. His mind cleared, focused solely on his current task. _It’s almost winter, so how can I make these last?_ _Should I dry them or make them into jam? I have to preserve them somehow; even if they were kept cold they’d go bad after about a month, and having some kind of fruit in winter really is nice…_

            He worked for maybe an hour, barely getting through a third of the field. His cloth bag was full to overflowing by the end and with a satisfied smile he began the hike home.

            By the time Ace reached his and Luffy’s house, the sun was just beginning to rise. He stared out at the colorful scene, smiling as a salty sea breeze came up the cliffs from the sea. The world was quiet, holding its breath as a new day was born. _That’s one nice thing about being so removed from everyone else…you get to really_ hear _the world as well as see it._ Ace looked down the long slope to Fuushia village. It was an hour-long hike through the woods on the best of days, and one winter a couple years ago he had had to hike it with Luffy in the snow, making a treacherous ice crossing since the bridge had been destroyed by a flood. Then it had taken 2 days. Staring out at the sunrise for another moment, Ace considered his life. A small smile came to his face. _There’s nothing, not one damn thing in the entire world I would trade this life for._ Still smiling, he stepped inside the house. It was only about 6, so Luffy would still be asleep. Ace set the bag of strawberries on the table and started making breakfast.

 

* * *

 

It was now about 11 o’clock in the morning. Ace was outside, just hanging up the laundry to dry. Inside, Luffy was lying on the floor on his stomach, drawing. Ace shook out a bed sheet and hung it up on the line. He yawned. _Damn I’m tired…I’d take a nap except I don’t trust Luffy not to blow up the house while I’m asleep._ Giving another wide yawn, he turned back towards the house, calling to Luffy inside.

            “Hey Luffy, what do you want for lunch?” No reply was forthcoming, even though if anything got Luffy excited it was food. Ace walked into the house and stuck his head into the living room. He froze. _Oh_ hell _no_. It was no wonder Luffy was so quiet. He was asleep. On the floor.

            With strawberry stems littered all around him.

            Ace marched into the room, making a beeline for Luffy. Luffy continued sleeping obliviously. Ace’s face was tightened with annoyance. He stopped, standing above his little brother, looking him over, head to toe. His face was still sticky with the juice from the strawberries, and the stems were littered all over the floor around him, some of them even sticking to his clothes. Ace crossed his arms, opening his mouth to scold his little brother but all his anger evaporated upon seeing Luffy’s drawing. He stood there for a moment, frozen, but finally a smile came to his face and he closed his eyes. He opened them again and ran a hand through his hair, still smiling. He shook his head. _You make it so hard to be mad at you._ Ace bent down and picked up the pad of paper Luffy had been drawing on.

On the paper, two lumpy, disproportional people stood. One was shorter with dark hair, brown eyes and a white shirt. Above this figure the word “me” was scribbled sloppily. The other figure was taller with dark hair, what might have been an attempt at hazel eyes, and brown spots, which Ace assumed were supposed to be freckles, covering the face. Above this figure “Onii-san” was scribbled in the same uneven handwriting. Ace looked down at his sleeping brother, warm smile still on his face. Looking back at the paper, he tore it gently out of the book, folding it and putting it in his pocket. Shaking his head, he picked up the stems-all that was left of a 5-hour effort-and brought them into the kitchen, throwing them in the trashcan.

 

* * *

 

Shanks and his crew were in Party’s Bar, as usual. Their ship was docked prudently on the other side of the island in case Garp or any other marines decided to stop by the island on their patrol. Shanks was laughing and joking, as usual and Makino was in back, cooking them all lunch. Benn was sitting near the wall, looking out the window. Makino came back in with the food, large platters of fried rice and various kinds of cooked meats and instantly the crew flocked to the table she set them down on. Makino stepped back, smiling, and returned behind the bar. After the initial rush the crew settled down into the quiet of satisfied eating. After a few moments, the noisy conversations began to return. Abruptly, Benn sat up straighter, eyes focused on a point outside the window. His voice was clear and serious.

“Captain.” Shanks stopped speaking mid-sentence, turning away from Lucky Roo and walking over to his first mate. Once he was there, Benn pointed silently out the window. Shanks’ face grew even more serious.

“Shit. That’s not Garp, is it?” Benn shook his head.

“My question is what they’re here for, and whether or not they know we’re on the island. Someone might have spotted the ship and called in the cavalry.” Shanks considered the problem.

“Should we fight them?” Benn shook his head.

“We’d just cause a commotion. And we don’t know who that is yet. Better to know exactly what we’d be getting into before we dive in.” Shanks nodded his agreement. The room behind them had fallen silent, the crew awaiting the results of the hushed conversation. Shanks turned towards his crew, face serious. “Alright. We’re pulling back for now. The East Wind is-“ Just then Makino stepped back into the room.

“It’ll be a problem if they see you, right? If you try to make your way back to the East Wind, it’s highly likely you’ll be spotted by a patrol.” Shanks turned to her, face still serious, showing none of his usual mirth.

“What would you suggest?” Makino took a deep breath.

“If you’re willing to, you can all hide in the storage cellar of this place. Nobody ever goes down there, and the marines have no excuse to search it.”  Shanks looked seriously at her.

“…You know that would mean you could be convicted of harboring fugitives, right?” Makino took a deep breath and smiled bravely.

“What would I tell Luffy and Ace if I let you get arrested?” Shanks walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes. From here, he could see that despite the brave face, she was scared. He tried to smile reassuringly.

“Thank you.” He turned to look back at his crew and nodded. Makino took a deep breath, setting her shoulders firmly.

“Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

            Ace hummed quietly to himself, rummaging through the kitchen for something to make for lunch. In the living room, Luffy was still asleep on the floor. Hearing movement behind him, he turned to see a sleepy Luffy rubbing his eyes and walking slowly across the kitchen. He walked up next to Ace and blinked owlishly.

            “What’s for lunch?” Ace continued rummaging through the cupboards.

            “Well, what would you like?” Luffy clapped his hands and bounced.

            “Meat!” Ace laughed and lifted an item from the cabinet.

            “Hmm…would you prefer beef soup or pasta with meatballs?” Luffy stared up at Ace with wide eyes, face soaked with indecision.  After a moment of silence, he snapped his fingers, apparently coming to some great conclusion.

            “Both!” Ace laughed again, turning back to the cupboard to get out the necessary ingredients.

            “Alright. And why don’t you get yourself something to drink-“ Just then, there was a series of fast, loud bangs. The bowl in Ace’s hand exploded, shards of glass falling to the floor, the cupboards showing holes and the windows shattering. Ace had instinctively flinched at the first gunshot, but now came back to his senses. “Luffy, get down now!” He tackled Luffy to the ground, rolling over in midair so that Luffy would land on top of him. They took shelter behind the counter, the gunshots continuing to tear up the house, breaking the dishes and putting holes in the cupboards. Luffy was cowering against Ace, pressing his face into Ace’s chest and clinging to him tightly. Ace was covering Luffy’s exposed ear, holding him close and trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how to get them out of it.

After what felt like hours the gunshots stopped. The floor was littered with glass, most of the cupboard’s doors hanging off their hinges. Ace held perfectly still, listening for any sounds of movement from outside. It sounded like a large group of people were moving around in a somewhat disorganized way, but based on the shouting they were going to come in. Ace listened to the continued movement from outside, trying to remain as still as possible so as not to alert whoever it was to his and Luffy’s presence. He pulled Luffy away from his chest and looked into Luffy’s wide, frightened eyes.

“Okay, Luffy? I need you to hide for me. I’m going to put you in a small place and it’s going to be dark, but you’ll be safe there. There’s going to be some people moving around in the house probably, and after they go away I want you to wait half an hour before you come out, do you understand?” Ace tried to speak in as calm of a tone as he could. Luffy nodded, still looking frightened. “Good. Once you come out, I want you to go to Makino. Can you do that? Tell her what happened and if you can, I want you to go to Shanks’ ship. But only go if it’s safe, okay?” Again Luffy nodded. Ace gave him a smile and carefully, silently, moved the two of them across the floor. Reaching a spot near the sink, Ace grabbed onto a tiny, nearly undetectable lip in the wood floor. Pulling it slowly, a section of wood slid away. Beneath it, a small, clean space was revealed. Ace slowly lowered Luffy into the space, laying him down on his back so that he’d be able to get out when the time came. “Remember, you’re going to wait here until the people have been gone for half an hour, okay? No matter what happens, don’t come out until then.” The movements from outside were growing closer, and Ace could tell they were going to come in soon. He looked down into Luffy’s eyes, and suddenly Luffy sat up from his place, grabbing Ace and hugging him tightly. Ace squeezed him back just as hard. They stayed that way for only a moment, each desperately seeking reassurance that the other would still be there by the end of this. Ace pressed his face into Luffy’s hair. He swallowed thickly. “Be safe, okay?” He felt Luffy nod against him and he released him, laying him back down in the floor and pulling the panel back over him.

Ace slid himself back against the counter. A knocking sound came from door. Ace didn’t even think of answering it. Moving slowly, he raised himself enough to get a glimpse of what the rest of the house was like. The same wreckage and destruction was everywhere. Darting out with a hand, Ace grabbed a sharp knife from the rack. He took a deep, calming breath. The knocking on the door had turned to rhythmic pounding as if someone were trying to break it down. Ace took another deep breath. _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must face my fear and I must stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left, only I will remain._ He shut his eyes, taking more deep breaths and listening to the pounding on the door. _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must face my fear and I must stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left..._ Ace heard the door break down and footsteps began pouring in. He opened his eyes slowly. ... _Only I will remain._


	16. Chapter 16

The memories had been pleasant at first. Watching Ace as a young boy raising his little brother had been an interesting view on a formerly silent story. If any of the women from the Moby Dick had been in the party, they probably would have cooed over young Ace’s behavior towards his little brother. The happier moments had caused subconscious smiles to form on Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard’s faces. It was interesting, at first they had only been watching the memories, but as time progressed, they were eventually able to hear Ace’s thoughts from that time. Some of them they even lived from his perspective. It had been an interesting experience, and all of them felt a much deeper bond with Ace than they had felt before. The memories had been sweet, and all three cherished the intimate understanding of Ace they had been shown.

And then of course, everything had gone to hell.

 When the gunshots had started, Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard had all moved forward simultaneously, instinctively moving to protect Ace as Ace had protected Luffy. Some kind of invisible barrier, like very clear glass, stopped them from actually reaching him. All three stood pressed up against it, watching in suspense as Ace and Luffy had nearly taken a dozen or more bullets. The gunshots had finally stopped, and Thatch turned to the other two with outrage.

“What the hell? Who would just open fire on a house like that?” Marco’s eyes remained fixed on Ace, watching him hide Luffy under the floor. His face was grim.

“I don’t know, but Ace isn’t out of this yet.” Thatch was confused.

“What do you mean by that?” Marco turned to look at Thatch for the first time.

“I have a very bad feeling about whoever it is on the other side of that door.” Thatch still looked confused. Marco elaborated. “Think about it. Two months from now Ace is lying on a cot comatose from posttraumatic stress disorder. He didn’t just get it on his own.” Marco turned back to look out at Ace who was now seated back on the floor holding a knife. Marco’s face held nervous anxiety. He knew something bad was coming to get his brother and best friend, and in this situation there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help. Thatch was staring at Marco, wide-eyed. He turned back to watch Ace, his face holding the same anxiety and fear.

“…Shit.”

 

(Line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line)

 

            Ace shut his eyes, taking more deep breaths and listening to the pounding on the door. _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I must face my fear and I must stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left…_ Ace heard the door break down and footsteps began pouring in. He opened his eyes slowly. _…Only I will remain._

Ace slid along the base of the counter silently until he came to a cabinet door. He opened it slowly so that the door would be between him and the entryway. He shifted the knife in his grip, crouching behind the door so that he wouldn’t be seen, but would be ready to move and move fast when the time came.

“Search the house.” The voice held a note of deep confidence. Not of someone who’s drunk on power, but someone who knows they’re in a position of authority and will not accept anything less than perfect obedience. Ace heard shoes-boots, probably-begin moving through the house. Moving carefully Ace snuck another glance over the counter. He sank back down behind the cabinet door quickly.

“Shit.” The hushed syllable escaped from Ace’s concerned face. The people in his house were wearing a kind of marine-issue body armor. It looked like black clothing, but beneath the tough fabric were plates of hardened steel. It was almost completely bullet proof. Ace shut his eyes, thinking deeply. The sounds of movement could be heard all around the house. He heard someone come into the kitchen. _Come on, Ace. Think. Think think think. There’s a weakness. There’s always a weakness._ The marine in the kitchen checked under the kitchen table and, seeing nothing, began making his way behind the counter. Ace knew he had 4 seconds, tops. The boots began crunching over the shattered glass, steadily making their way towards Ace. 3 seconds. _Come on. What is it?_ Think. The marine drew closer still. 2 seconds. Ace slowed his breathing even further, making it truly silent. 1 second. The footsteps were painfully close now. The marine stepped past the cabinet door where Ace was hiding. Ace held his breath. The man hadn’t looked down and spotted him yet. Ace’s eyes snapped open. _Yes. That’s it. The joints still need free movement. So does the neck._ Ace readied himself. _I do what I do to protect myself and the people I care about. These marines directly attacked me. What I do is in self-defense and…_ He glanced at the floor where he knew Luffy was hiding. … _for something much more precious than my life._ Ace opened his mouth and whispered quietly so only the marine beside him would hear.

“Requiescat in pace.” The marine’s head had only begun to turn at the noise when Ace darted out from behind the cabinet door. The knife flashed silver, then red. He sliced the back of the marine’s right knee, through tendon and muscle, and the man went down. Before he could cry out, Ace, in the same fluid movement, sliced open the man’s neck. The knife went through both the jugular veins and the windpipe, and the man’s forming scream turning into a quiet gurgle. Ace grabbed the body and lowered the man gently to the kitchen floor with very little noise. Blood pumped vigorously from the wounds and began pooling on the floor. He heard footsteps approaching from the other room.

“Hey Wilde, found anything yet?” The man came around the counter, face unconcerned.

And saw Ace crouched over the dead body looking up at him, bloodstained knife still in his hand.

To his credit, the man responded very quickly. “Holy shit!” He brought up his rifle, aiming hastily at Ace. Ace’s eyes widened and he threw himself to the side, dodging the bullet and then racing forwards, bent low, trying to get out of the kitchen area. The man tracked his movements, firing off several more shots. Most missed Ace by centimeters. Ace threw himself behind the kitchen table, kicking it over. More gunshots rang from where the marine was standing, and Ace scrambled back as the bullets shot through the table. He finally reached the end of the table and ran out from behind it. He looked over and saw the man taking aim, and in a moment of clarity Ace knew he wouldn’t miss this time. Ace brought up his right hand and threw the kitchen knife. It whirled through the air with deadly accuracy. The point hit the man square in the center of his throat. The man’s eyes widened and he bent over, giving a bloodstained cough. Blood poured from the wound and he brought a hand up, instinctively tearing the knife out of his neck. It shortened his lifespan from 2 minutes to 30 seconds. Ace didn’t stop running and didn’t look back as the man fell, drowning in his own blood.

Ace ran for the door, still bent low. By now the other marines were beginning to react, and when Ace ran out into the entry, there were five marines gathered near the door. Ace saw them and his eyes widened. They seemed equally surprised, but didn’t hesitate to raise their guns. Ace threw himself into the living room. The guns barked their reports and Ace felt a bullet graze the side of his neck. Ace looked around the room for something, anything to use as cover. He spotted the couch and threw himself behind it. More gunshots fired, but beneath that Ace could hear the marines coming into the room. _Damn it…I can’t stay here for long._ Ace looked around, trying to come up with an escape route. The marines were growing far too close for comfort. Abruptly Ace stood up from his hiding place. The marines were startled, and it took them a moment to realize they should be shooting him. In that time Ace grabbed one of the couch’s pillows and hurled it at one of the marines. The marine thought it was some kind of attack and shot the pillow. The room exploded with feathers. They were everywhere and Ace used the momentary blind as a window to get to his next hiding place. He pressed himself against the wall next to the room’s bookcase. Now the marines were still between him and the door, and so was the couch. This hiding place wouldn’t last long, but Ace didn’t need it to. He reached under his shirt and behind his back. Grasping the handle, Ace drew a dagger from its concealed place on his back. The sheath was well oiled, and as Ace drew out the new weapon it made no sound. This blade was double sided, and was slightly curved. Ace readied himself and waited, listening to the marine’s movements from the room. They were calming back down, the last feathers floating to the ground. Ace looked carefully out from his hiding place, watching them search the room.

Finally one began heading in his direction. Ace waited for him to get closer. The other four were spread throughout the room, two of them standing in the doorway of the living room, guarding it against Ace’s escape. Ace took a deep breath, calming his mind and getting his muscles ready. His brain was telling him there was about a 1 in 5 chance of this working. Ace told his brain to shut up. He took several deep breaths, readying himself. The marine took another step forwards. _Now._

Ace darted forwards, running at top speed. The marine gave a startled shout as the boy ran towards him full-tilt. Reaching the couch, Ace leapt up onto the armrest, using it as a stepping-stone. His next step landed squarely on the marine’s shoulder, and he jumped off of it with all his might, aiming for the door. The moment passed in slow motion, in hyper-clarity. Ace saw the expressions of shock on every face, each marine turning up to look at him. Ace allowed a grin to come to his face. It was working. It was really working. One of the marines, one of the ones standing near the door, recovered somewhat from his shock and reached up, trying to grab Ace’s ankle as he sailed over his head. He wasn’t able to grab it, but he bumped it pretty hard and threw off Ace’s trajectory. Ace’s eyes widened and he tried to recover, but he landed awkwardly. As he had planned, he rolled at the end of his jump, doing a summersault. But because of the unexpected change, he landed hard on his right shoulder. Ace heard a loud pop and pain shot through him from the joint. The knife fell from Ace’s hand, sticking into the floorboards. Ace grit his teeth. _No time for that now._ Coming out of the roll, Ace threw himself out the broken door, running as fast as he could. He sprinted off into the forest, hearing the shouts of the marines behind him. Marco, Thatch and Whitebeard all looked around the house, then after Ace in shock. Marco spoke, eyes widened.

“Goddamn. Ace is a badass.”

Ace was now deep into the forest, quite a ways from the house. He had stopped to catch his breath and to drink from a clear stream, as well as to reset his dislocated shoulder. Ace grabbed his upper right arm, mentally bracing himself. Giving it a strong tug, there was another loud pop. Ace bit back another yell of pain. He had been leading the marines away, baiting them. He wanted them as far away from Luffy as possible. Ace heard the sound of breaking branches and shouting. He stood, taking a deep breath. _All right. Here we go again._ Ace set his shoulders and began running at a fairly sustainable pace away from the noise. Suddenly, Ace heard more shouts and movement from in front of him as well as behind him. Ace skidded to a stop. His face grew dark. _The damn marines are getting smarter._ Ace turned to his right and began sprinting, trying to get out of the pincer before it closed around him.

 

(Line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line,)

Makino waited anxiously in the bar. Thus far, the marines hadn’t even come to the building, and she was very grateful of that fact. She tried to busy herself with menial tasks, wiping down the counter, cleaning up the dishes from the pirate’s lunch, and polishing glasses. She was extremely on edge, and not just because she had a crew of wanted pirates taking refuge in her basement. There was something else. She instinctively knew something was wrong, and her stomach was twisting itself into knots from anxiety. She polished the glass in her hand for the umpteenth time and it was really almost shinier than the day she bought it.

When the door burst open Makino jumped about a foot in the air and nearly dropped the glass. A short figure came running across the room, around the counter, and promptly latched itself onto Makino’s legs. Makino was frozen in shock for a moment, but then recovered enough to speak.

“Luffy? What are you doing here?” Luffy looked up at her, then pressed his face back into her skirt. He was panting hard, and seemed to be crying as well. Makino crouched down, trying to look him in the face. He _was_ crying. The tears ran down his face freely. His knees and arms were scraped as if he had fallen, and his whole front was covered in dirt from the apparent fall. Makino was utterly lost. “Luffy, what happened? Why are you upset?” Luffy’s speech was choked and interrupted by hiccupping sobs.

“I…I…I hid…there were loud noises, like thunder…it was dark…I was in there for such a long time…” He broke down into sobs again and Makino held him for a moment, rocking him slightly and shushing him gently.

“Luffy…I need you to tell me what’s going on. Where’s Ace?” Luffy gave another sob, then tried to calm down, taking deep breaths.

“We…we were making lunch. We were going to have pasta and soup and stuff…but then there was a loud noise like thunder but closer. Ace grabbed me and everything started breaking…” He gave another hiccupping sob, but forced it down, almost swallowing it. “Ace put me into a little space in the floor and told me to stay there, so I did. I waited there for a really long time, and I heard a lot more of those loud noises from above me…after that I heard shouting and people running out of the house, and I kept waiting like Ace said…” He gave another sob, the tears starting to flow down his face again. “…But Ace didn’t come back!” Luffy broke back down into tears and unintelligible mumblings. Makino’s face was covered in shock. _The marines…The marines_ shot _at Luffy and Ace? With no warning?_ She looked back down at Luffy. He was crying, terrified of the possibilities. _They chased Ace out of the house…but why would they pursue him? Ace hasn’t broken any laws. Unless…_ Realization dawned on Makino. _…they know._ Makino’s voice was but a whisper.

“Oh God…” Panic and fear for the boy filled Makino. If the marines really did know about Ace’s lineage, he was in serious danger. He needed help. Now. Makino stood. She knew Luffy needed comforting, but Ace’s situation was much more dire. She full out sprinted through the kitchen, panic and anxiety filling her. She threw open the door to the cellar and ran down a few steps, turning to face the pirates.Tears of desperation began flowing down her face. The pirates were looking at her like she had lost her mind. Makino’s voice came out rushed, full of fear.

“You have to help him! They’re going to kill him!” Now the pirates looked even more confused. After a moment Shanks approached her, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes.

“What’s happened Makino? Who’s going to kill who?” Makino looked up at him.

“The marines! The marines, they’re not here for you!” The room fell into silence for a moment, all of the pirates looking at Makino in surprise. “They came for Ace!” Shanks’ eyes widened.

“What?” Makino fell to her knees.

“You have to help him! If they catch him, he’ll die!” Makino’s voice fell to a watery almost-whimper. “Please…” Shanks looked out to his crew. His face was set, his eyes determined. He nodded to them. His voice was serious and direct.

“Alright, boys. Let’s go.” They all nodded back. Ace was their friend. Their friend who was currently in trouble. They were going to help him, and no damn marines were going to stand in their way.

 

(Line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line, line)

 

Ace was running as hard as he could now. He was fairly flying over the forest underbrush, and on both sides he could hear the marines closing in. His window of escape was narrowing exponentially, and if he didn’t get out in time, he was screwed. It may have been in self-defense, but he had killed two marines. The ones left weren’t likely to be thinking about justice when they caught the person responsible for the death of two of their crewmates. Ace heard the noise of the pursuing marines beginning to fall behind him as opposed to on his sides and he heaved a mental sigh of relief. _Made it._

Ace continued running, heading in the direction of a large swampy area. _They’ll be bogged down by the mud. I can escape there._ Ace heard a whirring sound coming from in front of him. An object came flying out of the trees in front of him and Ace tried to skid to a stop. He slipped on some loose leaves and fell on his back. The object hit a tree to Ace’s right and Ace saw sturdy straps wrap around the tree several times. Ace’s eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet. _Damn it! It’s a trap!_ Ace made a 90-degree turn to his right and ran as hard as he could. He realized now that the marines had been herding him towards this place. He heard more whirring sounds and watched as the bolas wrapped around trees all around him. _Damn it damn it damn it!_ He ran harder than he ever had, desperately trying to get out of the jaws of the trap. Eventually the objects became less frequent and only came from behind him. He grinned, thinking he had gotten away.

“Ace! Ace, where are you?!” Ace heard Shanks’ voice echoing through the trees, shouting from a ways away. His eyes widened and he heaved a mental sigh of relief. _Yes. Thank God._

“I’m here!” Ace shouted as loud as he could. Ace turned and began running in the direction of Shanks’ voice. He grinned, feeling hope bloom inside him. His running gained new speed, and he reached a dry streambed. He leapt into the air, still smiling.

The bolas wrapped around both his legs, binding them almost instantly. They wrapped tightly. Ace’s smile fell, an expression of shock coming to his face. Ace fell hard. He landed on his front, skidding in the dry dirt of the streambed. His face had been scraped in the landing, and he shook his head to clear the dust from his eyes. Ace rolled over, sitting up. He moved desperately, trying to get the ropes off his legs. He was panting hard, and he began hearing the noise of the approaching marines again, growing closer at an alarming speed. Ace pulled desperately at the ropes, but they didn’t budge. He couldn’t get them off. He felt desperation flooding inside him, blocking out every other thought except _escape._ He pulled harder still at the bonds on his calves, but the rope didn’t loosen. Ace heard a boot crunch in the gravel of the streambed directly behind him, less than 5 feet away.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” Ace froze. It was the same voice. The one that gave the order to search the house. Ace heard other pairs of boots fill in behind the marine officer and he sat up straight and still. _I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left, only I will remain._ Ace forced himself to remain calm _._ Ace heard the officer’s boots growing closer, making no effort at stealth as they stepped in the gravelly dirt. The marine stopped directly behind Ace and Ace continued to stare out straight ahead. His panting had calmed, and he was now breathing slowly through his mouth. Ace heard the click of a pistol being cocked and a moment later he felt something cold and hard pressing against the base of his skull. He continued to breathe slowly. He made no protest or plea, only shutting his eyes calmly. _At least Luffy’s safe. It’s worth it. He deserves life so much more than I do._ Ace felt the pressure of the gun against the nape of his neck increase. A small, peaceful smile came to his face. _Well, Luffy. Here’s to you. My amazing naive_ miracle _of a little brother._

“Are you ready to die, Ace?” Ace’s smile dropped.

“How do you know my name?” There was no pause and the gun remained firmly pressed against Ace’s neck.

“Your ‘grandfather’ told me. He was all torn up about what he said to you. He got drunk and it was only too easy to get information out of him.” A small pause passed. “And it’s not just your first name I know.”

“Ah. That’s why you came here.”

“You shouldn’t exist. You makes us look bad, so we’re erasing you.” Ace could almost see the smile form on the man’s face. “Are you afraid?” Ace’s smile returned.

“No. I’m dying for something far more precious than myself. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” The man snorted.

“You’re right. I don’t. Nothing is worth giving your life for.” Ace’s face didn’t change.

“Then you haven’t been living.” The man pulled the gun away.

“Unfortunately for you, you won’t be dying quite that easily. We’re taking you to Impel Down.” Ace’s eyes opened in surprise, and the smile dropped. He heard the officer step back. When he spoke again, it was with the voice of authority again, devoid of emotion. “Take him.” Ace heard the other marines step forward in a rush. Ace threw his hands up and bent over, shielding his head and neck. It was all he could really do before the blows began falling. Thatch’s eyes widened.

“Ace!” Again, Whitebeard, Thatch, and Marco all surged against whatever it was that held them back from their friend. Again they were held back, and as more marines closed around Ace they lost sight of him.

The punches and kicks rained down mercilessly. Each blow blossomed with pain, and Ace grit his teeth hard to keep from crying out. One of the marines picked up a rock and threw it at him. It hit Ace in the side and he heard something make a snapping sound. Instantly his side was aflame with pain, radiating through his entire chest.

Still he did not cry out.

One of the marines grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging him out of his somewhat shielded position. The man punched him across the face, hard. Ace would have collapsed on his side but that the marine was still holding his hair. His lip split and he tasted blood. A second punch landed near his right eye, and this time the marine let go of his hair, the blow carrying Ace to the ground. His head hit a rock. His vision flashed white and it was a struggle to remain conscious.  And still the blows continued falling. The smarter marines targeted Ace’s broken rib, eliciting gasps of pain from him.

But still he did not cry out.

“Stop it! God damn it, stop!” Marco was shouting at them, but none of them seemed to hear. All three were pounding against the barrier, desperately trying to get to their downed friend.

After what seemed like an eternity the marine officer spoke again. “Enough. Tie him up.” Some of the marines stepped back, panting. Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard could see Ace again. He lay on the ground on his side. Ace’s mouth was slightly open and blood trailed down his face from a split lip. His nose was bleeding too, but didn’t seem broken. A black eye was forming over Ace’s right eye. His clothes were lightly spattered with blood, some of it from Ace but most of it from the marines he had killed that morning. Beneath his unbuttoned shirt they could see bruises beginning to form, particularly over the broken rib. He was covered in the dust of the streambed, brown smudged on his face and clothes. He was barely conscious. Marco was enraged.

“You sons of bitches he’s just a kid!” He slammed a closed fist against the glass-like substance. Beside him, Whitebeard was just as angry. He growled low in his throat, a deep, primitive sound that promised pain beyond belief.

Several marines remained near Ace, drawing out ropes from packs. Ace wasn’t conscious enough to fight back as they tied his hands behind his back. Two of them grabbed him by his upper arms and lifted him to his feet. His vision was still slightly blurry from the hard blow to his head, and he couldn’t support his full weight. Ace blinked several times, fighting to remain conscious. He was doubled over. A marine was approaching him from the front, smiling cockily. In his hand was a small, dark-colored bag. Ace heard the approaching footsteps. He spat blood onto the dirt in front of the marine and straightened, looking him in the eye, glaring defiantly. The marine flinched under the glare, pausing for a moment in surprise. After a short pause he continued forwards. Ace glared at him harder the closer he got. Finally the man reached him. Ace continued to glare at him until the bag covered his head.

“Let’s go.” The officer’s voice was as clear and direct as ever and they began walking. They had taken off the bindings from around Ace’s legs and he stumbled along blindly between two marines. Ace wasn’t sure how long they walked. He figured that the marines had docked at the port, which would mean they’d have to pass through Fuushia Village on the way.

After who-knows-how-long they came out of the trees. Ace could tell because he felt the warmth of the sun increase and could see specks of light through the bag. Ace assumed they were walking down the main road. He was a little confused, none of the usual sounds of Fuushia were present, the fishermen weren’t shouting and joking while they gutted their haul, the women weren’t gossiping on their front porches, the mayor wasn’t yelling at anyone. The town was silent.

“Stop.” The marines did so, the ones near Ace shoved him forwards and he stumbled and fell on his front, unable to break his fall with his hands. He bit back a cry as his broken rib flared painfully. There was the sound of a door opening nearby, and Ace assumed it was the officer going to buy supplies before they headed out. The door closed again, and Ace continued to lie on the dirt, unable to see where they were. He heard another door slam open and then the sound of fast approaching footsteps, like someone running. He heard the marines protest, but whoever it was kept running towards him. He heard them skid to a stop beside him. The bag was pulled off his face, and after a moment of blinding white light, he saw Makino kneeling in the dust of the road beside him.

“Oh my God, Ace!” She was shocked at the bleeding and bruised boy she saw before her, but there was no denying it was Ace. She brought a clean handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped the blood and dirt from his face. She opened her mouth to speak when she was grabbed from behind by the waist and lifted away. She kicked and writhed against the marine pulling her away.

“How could you? He’s done nothing wrong! He’s just a child!” Her yelling fell on deaf ears, and she was carried away from Ace. Ace stared after her. He heard another door open and close, then footsteps. These were calm, moving at a walking pace. _The officer._ Ace instinctively knew it was him. He walked past Ace without pausing, going over in the direction from which Makino was still kicking and yelling, still being restrained by a marine. He stopped and addressed her.

“Ma’am, didn’t we ask all of you to stay indoors? The world government has arrested this prisoner. That’s all you need to know. He’ll be dealt with according to his crimes.” Ace could tell he was smiling while he spoke.

“Oh that’s rich! He’s a 10-year-old _boy!_ What crimes has he committed?” Makino was beyond outraged.

“What’s it to you? A relative of his, perhaps?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care!” Ace heard more footsteps.

“Makino? What’s going on?” Ace’s eyes widened. _Oh shit. No. No. Don’t. Please. If they think that you’re actually-_ “Ace?” Ace heard footsteps approaching. He was _praying_ that they wouldn’t get any closer. They didn’t listen. The officer turned towards the approaching person.

“Who are you?” Ace’s back was facing all three, the officer, Makino, and the approaching boy. Makino tried to go out and get him.

“Luffy! Get back inside the house!” But it was too late. He had already seen Ace, and he was now running towards him as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Ace!” Luffy threw himself on top of Ace. Ace’s broken rib protested its further abuse with agonizing clarity. “Ace! What happened to you? I came here after I left the house and-“

“Luffy! Go back inside! _Now_!” Luffy backed up a few startled steps. Ace _never_ yelled at him. Ace heard more footsteps approaching. He rolled over, first sitting up, then coming to a kneeling position. Luffy was still staring at him in shock.

“Who’s this?” The marine officer’s voice was seemingly as distant as ever, but Ace heard the malevolent interest present in that voice. Ace swallowed. _I’m sorry Luffy…_

            “Who, this? He’s her son.” He jerked his head at Makino. He looked back at Luffy, feigning contempt. “He’s nothing but a whiner and a crybaby. Sticks to me like glue. Damn annoying prick.” Luffy’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung slightly open. Ace saw the hurt in his eyes and wanted to curl up and die. But he had to make them believe it.

            “Is he your friend?” The officer’s voice still held that insidious interest. Ace snorted.

            “Please. I don’t give a shit about him. All he’s ever done is screw up. Always right behind me, undoing anything I take time to do. You’d be doing the world a favor if you just shot him in the head. He’s the biggest dumbass to ever walk the planet.”

            “You really don’t care about him?” Ace snorted again, but he felt like a god damned monster, seeing the pain he was causing his little brother.

            “You kidding? Who _could_ care about him?” He heard the officer approaching him from behind. He was lifted to his feet and the bonds around his wrists were cut. He felt a handle pressed into his palm.

            “Prove it.” Ace gripped the handle and brought whatever it was around from behind his back so he could see it. He stared at it in horror.

The knife’s blade glistened cruelly in the afternoon night.

Ace blinked at it a few times, then looked between it and Luffy with wide eyes. Luffy was crying in earnest now, and hadn’t seen the knife in Ace’s hand. A moment passed.

“Well? You seemed capable enough earlier when you killed those two marines.” Ace swallowed and grit his teeth. _It’s better this way, Luffy. Trust me._ Ace swallowed again. He took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“Close your eyes, Luffy.” Luffy looked up at him, tears still streaming down his face. But he did as he was asked. He trusted, as always. Makino was staring at Ace in open shock and horror. So were Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard.

“No way.” Thatch’s voice was a hushed whisper. They all stared at Ace and the tension lay thick as blood on the street.

“Don’t move.” Ace’s voice was still soft. Luffy didn’t even twitch. Ace kneeled in front of the boy and whispered so only Luffy and maybe the officer could hear. “Te sunt dignum moriendo. Vivere in libertatem.”

Ace grabbed a fistful of Luffy’s shirt and pulled him forward. At the same time he brought the knife forward, quick and fast. Blood bloomed on Luffy’s shirt like a rose. The boy made a mild sound of surprise as some of the liquid hit his face. Ace lifted him and threw him across the street. His head hit a rock and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out. The knife, as well as Ace’s hand, was covered in blood.

“Oh my God!” Makino was wide eyed. She tore herself away from the marine and ran to the limp boy. “Luffy!” She threw herself to the ground next to him and began desperately shaking him. He didn’t stir. The marine officer sounded amused, as if he were watching some kind of overly-dramatic play.

“Good. I see that you weren’t lying. Very well. We have what we need, men. Let’s go. Tie him back up.” Two marines grabbed Ace’s arms, taking the knife and rebinding his wrists. The bag was replaced over his face and the marines marched away, bringing Ace with them.

Makino sat in the dust of the road, holding the limp and unresponsive Luffy. “Oh my God, oh my God.” Tears were streaming down her face. She grabbed Luffy’s bloodstained shirt, tearing it open to find the injury and to see if Luffy was still alive. Makino finished opening the shirt and looked down at Luffy’s chest. She gasped, dropping the material and staring at Luffy’s chest. At Luffy’s complete, unharmed, gently rising and falling chest. She looked back at the blood on the shirt, then at the blood on her hands. _Then what…?_

A ways away Ace grinned under the bag and pressed a bleeding wrist against his leg, trying to hide the injury.

 

_Moments earlier_

“Don’t move.” Ace kept his voice soft so Luffy wouldn’t panic. _He has to stay completely still or else this won’t work._ Luffy didn’t even twitch and Ace heaved a mental sigh of relief. Ace kneeled down in front of Luffy, drawing back the knife silently. _I only have one shot at this. I_ cannot _miss._ He paused for a moment, then whispered to the boy. “Te sunt dignum moriendo. Vivere in libertatem.” Luffy didn’t speak Latin, but Ace wanted to give him his blessing without the marines understanding. If they did, all of this would be for naught. Ace tugged on Luffy’s shirt and brought the knife forward. He had to focus intently, aiming the knife perfectly.

The knife sliced Ace’s wrist open and blood sprayed out onto Luffy’s shirt. The knife punctured the shirt, but because Luffy was being pulled forward by the article of clothing there was a little empty space between Luffy’s chest and the shirt. The knife cut the cloth without even nicking Luffy’s skin. Ace pressed his bleeding wrist against Luffy’s chest for another moment when he lifted the boy, smearing his blood all over the white shirt. He threw Luffy directly into the rock, knowing it would hurt like hell but needing Luffy to be unconscious. Makino panicked, as expected. It only helped to settle the lie further.

And then the marines put the bag over his face and led him away, taking the knife and binding his hands. Once his face was covered again he had smiled in satisfaction. _It’s better this way, Luffy. Much better. If I’m going to burn for my bad blood, I don’t want to drag you into hell with me. Te sunt dignum moriendo. Vivere in libertatem. You are worth dying for. Live in freedom._ He could hear the ocean now. He was walked up a gangplank and onto a ship. He focused for a moment, listening only to the sounds of the waves hitting the cliffs near his home. He realized with a deep feeling of melancholy that it would probably be the last time he heard that familiar sound. The marines tugged on his arms and led him below decks. The sound of the waves faded, and instantly Ace wanted nothing more than to throw himself back up the stairs and hear that calming, _soothing_ sound once more, have it lull him off to sleep as it had so many times in the past. But he didn’t struggle against the marines. He was led down-he was _thrown_ down several staircases. The landings were painful, but nothing broke. Finally they reached what Ace assumed to be the prison-area of the ship. Ace had expected rats or an unpleasant odor, but none of those things were present. It was silent. Removed. Almost…surgical. Sterilized. Ace swallowed, feeling alien and unwelcome. _This place has no soul._ Ace didn’t know where the thought came from but instantly knew it to be true. His heart constricted in his chest. _People have died here._ Ace had no evidence to back the conclusion but inherently knew this to be true as well. He heard a door open. He was thrown inside what he assumed to be some sort of cell. Some marines followed him in. They brought him across the cell and over to one of the walls. They removed the rope bindings from Ace’s wrists and brought both of his arms out, shutting shackles around his wrists with well-oiled ease. The bag was brought off of Ace’s face.

He was bound to the wall of the cell. He was left facing a wooden wall, his wrists secured by well-maintained, almost new-looking shackles. These stretched his arms out somewhat, maybe 2/3s of their full reach. It was wooden walls on either side, but based on the way the light from the lamps outside was falling, the fourth wall was bars. Ace heard the footsteps retreat and the door shut. More footsteps joined these, and Ace heard the entire mass of marines head upstairs. Or he thought it was the full mass. But one light remained down by his cell, and he could see someone’s shadow being cast across the floor. It was a man’s shadow. He heard the door open again, followed by slow footsteps. Ace took a deep breath. _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me, then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain._ Ace wasn’t actually afraid of the man, but the atmosphere of the place had subtly disarmed him, and he was nervous. The footsteps stopped maybe 4 feet away. The cell must have been pretty spacious.

“Are you afraid?” _The officer. Of course._ Knowing at least something about who was in the room eased Ace’s rattled nerves somewhat.

“No. Is that why you won’t let me see you? You think it’ll make me scared? Or is it that you didn’t have the balls to look me in the eye while you had your men beat me?” The marine behind him laughed.

“Neither.” His chuckled for a moment longer. “You’ve got quite a bit of fight in you. I give you…2 weeks. Then you’re gone. You know, I’m glad you came along. It’s the ones like you that really give it spirit, you know? Now come on, Ace,” he paused for a moment. “Give us a scream.”

A line of pain ripped across Ace’s back. He gasped in pain, eyes widening. Ace tightened his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. He clenched his teeth, hard. A second line of pain followed the first, and where the two intersected a flash of bright agony was born. Ace clenched his teeth harder, swallowing any sound.

He would not scream.

The whip danced expertly in the marine’s hand, but Ace would not submit. He counted the blows, one by one. Every lash grew more and more painful as they began to overlap other gashes more frequently. Ace’s blood began to drip to the floor, already spattered on the whip’s length.

After 25 lashes, Ace fell. His legs just would not support him anymore. He was left hanging by his arms from the shackles, back still openly exposed to the hungry whip.

At 36, Ace stopped counting. His mind became fogged over. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t fight. His blood now not only stained the tattered remains of his shirt, it dripped onto the floor and lightly spattered the walls where it had slipped from the whip. It took Ace a moment to realize the blows had stopped. He heard footsteps heading away from him. He blinked the fog out of his mind and took several deep breaths. _I won’t let you win._ Ace took several deep breaths and gathered his strength. He forced himself to stand once more. The marine stopped, seemingly in surprise. The footsteps restarted again, heading towards Ace. When they were directly beside him, they stopped. Instantly immense pain doused Ace’s entire back. Each of the whip’s bites flared with blinding, burning pain. Ace gasped, collapsing again. He shut his eyes once more and bit back a scream. Ace was left choking, hanging from the chains. The marine reached for each of Ace’s hands. He unlocked the shackles from around both of Ace’s wrists.  Ace fell to the floor, still gasping in pain. He heard footsteps retreating, the door opening and closing.

“Impressive. But we’ve got plenty of time, don’t fret. You’ll break eventually. They all do. I just have to find your fracture points.” Ace could basically hear the man smile. “Welcome, Ace. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your miserable life.” Ace heard more footsteps, heading away from him and upstairs, and the light left with him. The prison sank into silence and blackness. Ace felt the residual pain in his back and continued to lie on the floor. He reached up and tried to dry the salt water off his back as gently as possible. That done, he lay still, trying to calm his breathing.

“Hello?” A voice echoed through the darkened hallway. Ace pushed himself into a sitting position, looking around. He couldn’t see anyone in the hallway, couldn’t see anything because of the darkness. It sounded like a boy about Ace’s age. “I…I just wanted to congratulate you on lasting this long. I know it hurts a lot, but what you did today was really impressive.”

“Who are you?” Ace’s voice was a little uneven, almost hoarse from his suppressed screaming. The voice was coming from the cell next to Ace’s. The boy grinned. One of his front teeth was missing, but they couldn’t see each other anyway.

“My name’s Sabo.”


	17. Chapter 17

It had been almost painful for Marco to watch as Ace was whipped. Marco winced as each blow fell, still pressing against the glass regardless of the fact that he would never get through. He hated this marine, wanted nothing more than to tear him apart. _When I get back to the real world, I am tracking this bastard down. He_ will _pay for this._ Thus far, because Ace hadn’t seen the marine’s face, Marco and the others didn’t know who he was. At the same time he hated this marine’s guts and wanted to help his friend, he truly was rooting for Ace. He was impressed by Ace’s pain tolerance. Even when that damn marine had poured seawater on the open wounds on Ace’s back he still hadn’t cried out. Marco knew grown men who weren’t that strong. Marco turned to his companions.

            “I don’t know about you guys, but when we get out of here-Thatch?” Thatch was staring at his right hand. He looked up suddenly at Marco. His face was dead serious.

            “We have to get out of here. Now.” Marco stared at him in confusion.

            “Thatch, what are you talking about? We can’t just leave. Ace needs us and Serpent said we can’t pull out until the end of a memory. I know it’s hard to see Ace like this but-“

            “That’s not what I’m talking about. We need to go back _now._ ” Thatch took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment. Marco blinked, then started forward.

            “No, wait! Thatch don’t-!” Thatch let loose a blast of haki. Marco fell to his knees, clutching his head. Distantly he heard Serpent’s voice.

            “You son of a _bitch!_ ” Marco’s vision was completely white for a moment, and there was a kind of white noise in his ears, blocking out any sound. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t see. He couldn’t remember how to breathe either. He forced himself to take some gasping breaths and his vision flashed with different images. Some were of Ace’s memories; some were of the infirmary of the Moby Dick. He heard a sound to his right and looked over, trying to see what was going on.

            Thatch forced himself to stand unsteadily. His mind was in much the same state as Marco’s, but he _had_ to do this. He stumbled to his feet, taking some unsteady steps forward. He slammed into a wall, his balance completely thrown off and unable to see where he was going.

            “Selma!” His vision was beginning to clear a little, and he staggered over to the door leading to Selma’s office.

            Throwing it wide, he looked in at the surprised doctor. She was staring up at him with widened eyes, still seated at her desk. Thatch leaned heavily against the doorframe, trying hard not to fall over. His right hand was clenched into a fist.

            _“Ace!” Thatch, who was closer, tried to grab Ace’s shoulder. “Ace, what’s wrong?” Ace tore his shoulder out of Thatch’s grasp harshly and continued running. He made it to the door and threw himself through it, still moving as fast as he could. Thatch approached Marco, his face and voice dead serious._

_“Marco. I don’t know what got him so scared, but we have to find him soon.” Marco looked at Thatch. By way of explanation, Thatch stuck out the hand that had grabbed Ace’s shoulder. Marco looked down at it and his eyes widened._

_“Is it his?” Thatch gave a grim nod._

_Thatch’s hand was covered in blood._

            Thatch, after seeing the Black Widow and the dinner party had chalked the blood on his hand up to be nothing more than another illusion, and when Ace had been found with no blood on his shirt it had only further proven this assumption. Thatch grit his teeth and mentally kicked himself. _What a damn_ fool _I was._

            “Selma. I need you to give Ace a physical examination _now.”_ Selma looked at him like he was crazy.

            “Taichou, are you alright? You seem kind of-“

            “Get it done, Selma. I don’t want to have to make it an order. I think Ace is seriously injured, and it’s possible he’s still bleeding. Heavily.” Selma blinked. Thatch almost _never_ pulled rank on anyone for any reason. None of the commanders did. It just wasn’t necessary in their crew. Thatch must be taking this really seriously to even suggest _ordering_ her to do anything. _But what could have made him so concerned?_

            “Yes, taichou. Right away.” Selma stood, going into business mode. She walked past Thatch and into the main infirmary. Her face was calm almost to the point of being emotionless. Marco was leaning against a wall rubbing his head. He looked up when Selma entered the room. She exchanged no greetings or pleasantries with him or Whitebeard, heading straight for Ace. She stood near his bedside for a moment and just looked him up and down. Reaching into a nearby cabinet she pulled out a stethoscope and a sphygmomanometer. She stopped for a moment and turned to look at the room’s other occupants. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat distant. It wasn’t cold but it had a deep air of professionalism.

            “I’m going to have to ask you three to leave the room.” She looked them all in the eye as she said it. When Selma went into doctor-mode she got very strict on the rules. The three of them getting booted wasn’t anything personal, it was just…protocol. Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard understood this, but it didn’t mean they completely agreed. All the same, Selma herded the three of them out of the room and shut the door behind them. Thatch turned away from the infirmary door to see a very pissed-looking cat.

            “What the _hell_ did you think you were doing? Do you realize the _damage_ you could have caused? You dumbass! You could have completely fried Marco or Whitebeard’s brain! Hell, you could have fried _Ace’s_ brain! Or your own! Not that you really _have_ one, based on the _sparkling_ intelligence you’ve displayed recently!” Serpent’s tail was lashing. She was snarling at him, her lips curled back to reveal her sharp feline teeth. Thatch sighed.

            “Listen, Serpent, it was-“

            “No, _you_ listen. I sent you in there to _help_ Ace. If all you’re going to do is _fuck everything up_ , I’m not going to let you go back in. If you screw this up, Ace is worse than dead. You pulling stunts like just now isn’t exactly convincing me that your presence in the team is useful. From now on, if you so much as twitch the wrong way, I’m pulling you out of the expedition. Permanently. Am I understood?” Thatch stared at Serpent in shock. Marco was also staring down at the cat in something akin to surprise. A tense, silent moment passed. Thatch swallowed and looked Serpent in the eye. He nodded seriously.

            “I understand.” Serpent’s glare lightened somewhat.

            “Good. We were lucky this time. Your idiocy didn’t cause any long-term damage. But I’m watching you. If you give me so much as the slightest suspicion that you’re going to try something like you did just now, game over. You’re out.”

 

* * *

            Selma shut the door behind the trio and turned around to face the room. She walked back over to Ace and picked up the shpygmomanometer. She reached down and gently lifted Ace’s arm. She glanced at Ace’s face to make sure he hadn’t stirred or woken. He hadn’t. Selma blinked. _Is that…?_ She reached over and gently brushed some of Ace’s bangs back from his forehead. She blinked, taking a deep breath.

“Holy shit.” On the right side of Ace’s face, right up against his hairline, was a dark, purple-yellow bruise that continued up under his hair. Accompanying the bruise was a three-inch-long gash that ran into his hair. It was stitched shut neatly, and wasn’t bleeding. Selma’s brows furrowed. She gently turned Ace’s head from side to side, checking for any more bruises or cuts on his face or scalp. _An injury like that usually has a concussion to go with it. I hope Ace isn’t in a coma…_ There were no further injuries to his head, and Selma leaned back. _How did Ace get an injury like that? Blunt force trauma and a neat laceration like that…_ Selma snorted quietly. _He’d have to be thrown out a window. But Ace wasn’t thrown out a window. He’s a 10-year-old_ kid _for Christ’s sake. Maybe he fell down the stairs while carrying a glass object or something sharp._ Selma nodded to herself and dismissed the wound as an accident.

She ran her eyes over Ace once more, checking for any other bruises or abrasions. There were none. _Alright. Let’s get a pulse._ Selma leaned over again, reaching towards Ace’s neck. She gently folded down Ace’s collar, not really paying attention to the boy. On a clipboard nearby she was scribbling notes about the bruise she had found on his head. The cut was closed and not bleeding, but she’d have to keep an eye on it and ensure it didn’t get infected. She hummed quietly to herself, finishing her notes. She looked back to Ace and froze. _No way…That’s not…Who would…How…?_

Stretched across Ace’s throat was a dark, hand-shaped bruise.

Selma had unconsciously raised a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the purple mark on Ace’s neck. She glanced back up at the bruise on his head. Based on the fading, he had gotten the two at about the same time. _Who would strangle a child?_ Selma stared at the bruise on Ace’s neck, horrified. She blinked, noticing something else. She pulled the neckline of Ace’s shirt down and her eyes widened further. Feeling trepidation building inside of her, Selma reached over into a nearby cabinet and drew out a scalpel. She used it to cut Ace’s shirt, and as the loose fabric fell away inch by inch Selma’s shock grew.

The entirety of Ace’s torso and arms was covered in clean white bandages.

Selma stared in shock for several moments. The bandaging was…beyond extensive. Selma, in her career, had seen maybe 12 people who needed that much help. Not only had the long-sleeved shirt concealed nearly all of the bandaging, it also hid the fact that Ace was thin. Really, really thin. A thought occurred to Selma and she drew away from Ace’s torso.

Reaching down, Selma rolled up the bottom of Ace’s pants. Not only was his torso bandaged, the injuries apparently continued on his legs. Selma ran a hand over the tight bandaging on his calves. Whoever had been working on Ace had used a different kind of bandage on his legs. This was stiffer, thicker fabric and it had been applied in several layers. _Why would they do that? Did they run out of supplies…?_ Selma shook her head. _No time for that now. If Ace is as seriously bandaged as all this, there have to be injuries behind it._ Selma squared her shoulders and reached again for her scalpel. Wielding the small knife expertly, she began gently cutting away the bandaging on Ace’s torso, taking her time so as not to cut the boy. Glancing at all the bandaging she would have to go through, Selma paused for a moment. _This…this is going to take a while._

* * *

 

Marco paced. Selma had been in there a long time. After Serpent had finished chewing Thatch out, the three of them had fallen to waiting in silence for their doctor to finish working on Ace. _Why is this taking so long? She was just giving him a physical exam, right?_ Marco paced some more, trepidation growing inside of him. Thatch was leaning against a nearby wall, head bowed, equally deep in thought. His face, too, reflected deep concern. Every now and then he would raise his right hand and stare at it with furrowed brows. Marco paced some more, unable to relax enough to stop. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

            Marco stared at the floorboards as he paced. The grain of the wood had a near hypnotic effect, and as he walked the small lines in the wood ran together and appeared like tiny dark rivers flowing through the boards. Marco wasn’t paying attention to the interesting illusion just now though. _Why the hell is this taking so long?_ The longer Marco had to wait, the more his concern grew. _This wouldn’t be taking so long if something wasn’t wrong._ Marco walked back and forth a few more times.  He bit his lip, forcing himself to stop. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked at the door. It didn’t move, and there wasn’t any sound from inside. Marco looked down at his hands, then ran one of them through his hair. _Damn all waiting forever._ Marco began pacing again, clenching and unclenching his hands.

            Marco stopped pacing again. His pacing had become more frenzied as time passed, and by now he was near certain there was a depression in the floor where he had been walking. He ran a hand over his face and looked at the door for a moment. He looked away and walked back and forth one more time. He looked back to the door and then raised a hand, as if to run it over his face again. He caught himself doing it and scowled at the offending limb. He glared at the door.

            “Oh _fuck this.”_ Marco finally just gave up and began storming towards the door. The other two stared at him in surprise as he marched over to the door. When he was about halfway there, the door opened. Marco stopped in his tracks. Selma came walking out slowly. She shut the door behind her and turned to face them. Marco’s frustration completely evaporated upon seeing the look on her face. Selma, being the doctor for a crew of pirates, had seen many grisly things in her time. She had seen limbs blown off by cannon fire, she’d seen patients half-disemboweled, she’d seen burns, cuts, bullet wounds, breaks, torn flesh and muscle. Twice she’d had to amputate something off one of her nakama with no anesthesia whatsoever.

            Never once had Marco seen her like this.

            She was pale. Very pale. One of her hands was raised to her mouth. Wide, shell-shocked eyes stared out of the almost white face. There were tears in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. She looked between the three of them, eyes full of sadness and horror, searching for answers. Her voice was unsteady with shock.

            “What happened to him?” she asked breathlessly. Marco blinked and swallowed.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Selma looked at him. She paused for a moment, searching for words.

            “…Everything. Everything you can possibly imagine.” Marco blinked in confusion.

            “What does that mean?” Selma ran a hand through her hair.

            “It means I fucking get why Ace has PTSD now.” She looked between the three again with something akin to pity. “Based on the injuries, and I’ve only seen the front of him so far, mind you, Ace has been…” Selma swallowed, closing her eyes and looking a little sick. She took a deep, steadying breath.

            “Ace was severely tortured for over a month.” 


	18. Chapter 18

 “So, what’s wrong with him specifically?” Selma ran a hand through her hair. She paused for a moment.

“I…I don’t know where to start. The damage is…extensive. Gashes, bruises, burns. And that’s just the beginning. He has 4 broken ribs and another 2 are fractured. And his hands…” She paused for a moment. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was seeing something else. She looked like she was trying not to cry. “All of the fingers in his right hand were broken recently and had really only just begun to heal. They were each broken separately. Do you have any idea what that would feel like? There was…there was a puncture wound through each of his palms, as if they were pinned to something by a knife or other sharp object.” She swallowed. She was trembling lightly now. Thatch was staring at her in horror, mouth hanging slack. He had seen it. He had seen the damned bandages on Ace’s hands but hadn’t understood them. He had seen the signs but failed to recognize them. It all made sense now, all of it. Memories flashed through his mind.

_“What happened to your hands?” Ace pulled his hands back as if to hide them. He tried to act nonchalant._

_“Nothing. I got a bad rope burn a couple of days ago. The skin is still raw, so it’s better to keep it covered.”_

Thatch lifted a hand to his face.

_Ace winced and switched the pencil from his right hand to his left. Thatch blinked. “Is there something wrong with your hand?” Ace stared at him, mouth moving but producing no sound. After a short pause, he finally spoke._

_“I…I have a bad habit of holding my pencils too tightly. My hands cramp after a while, so it’s better to switch every now and again.”_

The lies were clear as glass now.

_“Marine or pirate?”_

Thatch’s heart constricted painfully.

_Thatch reached down to help Ace stand. Ace flinched back wildly, as if expecting a blow._

 

Thatch felt tears beginning to form in his own eyes.

_Jericho raised his hand. “You little bitch!” Ace’s eyes went wide and he pressed back against the table. He looked utterly terrified, breath hitching in his throat._

Thatch clenched his jaw and shut his eyes tightly.

_He hadn’t been seeing Jericho, though._ The details clicked in Thatch’s mind. _His eyes were too high. He was seeing something from this, from his past, from this hell he had been bound to, the hell he had hidden from us._ Thatch’s face was tight, his head bowed. _The hell he had faced alone._

 Marco was completely shocked, and could barely think enough to breathe. This…this didn’t happen. Children weren’t abducted from their homes and tortured. It just…it just could be true. Marco had always considered himself a realistic man, not naïve enough to believe in a perfect world anymore, but this… This was just _wrong._ It…couldn’t be true. Ace wasn’t _tortured_ when he was a 10-year-old kid. Marco blinked.

 _He circled back to the ship, gaining altitude to maximize his range of visibility. His gaze wandered over the ship and froze._ Oh thank God. _Relief rose like a tide inside Marco, and he circled lower and landed on deck. Sitting with his back to the port railing, knees pressed tightly against his chest and head bowed, was Ace._

_When Marco landed Ace remained in his curled position. Marco approached him slowly, unsure.  As Marco drew nearer, he noticed Ace was shivering, his entire body trembling lightly. Marco approached, reaching out with his right hand._

_“Ace?” Ace’s head jerked up, and he threw himself backwards, away from Marco. His eyes were wide and his breathing was shallow and uneven._

_“Don’t touch me!” Marco was shocked._

_“Ace…” Ace’s breathing remained shallow, almost like panting._

_“Stay back!” Marco stopped where he was and slowly withdrew his hand. Marco looked into Ace’s eyes and saw nothing but panic and fear._ He doesn’t even recognize me… _Marco, moving slowly so as not to startle Ace, quietly sat where he was, facing towards him._

_“Ace, calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Marco raised both his hands slowly so that Ace could see them clearly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Ace shut his eyes tightly and a shudder passed down his spine. He remained that way for a moment, and when he reopened his eyes they seemed clearer._

_“Marco.” Ace’s voice was choked, the syllable more like a sob than a name. He shut his eyes again. He curled back up, arms wrapped around his legs pulling them close to his chest, forehead resting on his knees. Marco took this as acceptance and slowly moved over to sit next to Ace. He could feel Ace shuddering next to him. He slowly put his arm around Ace. At the contact Ace flinched, but didn’t flee. Marco looked down at the boy in concern._

_“Ace, what’s the matter? Why are you so upset?” Ace’s voice came out muffled and thready._

_“Because I remember_ everything _. I…I just…During the day it’s not so bad, but at night? I can’t-…There’s no escaping, when I’m asleep.”_  Marco turned away from Selma and the rest, leaning against a wall and pressing a hand against his mouth.

“Oh my God.” Ace had told him. Ace had fucking _told_ him and he _still_ hadn’t responded. The weight of Marco’s guilt nearly brought him to his knees. Marco felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. _I had promised him…I had_ promised.

_“Oi, Marco! Report for you!” Jozu tossed the white envelope through Marco’s opened doorway. Marco caught it deftly without looking up from the legitimate_ piles _of paperwork he was currently working on._

 _“Thanks Jozu.” Marco spoke distractedly, automatically. He brought the envelope around to his front and glanced at the return address._ 7142 South Molston Road, Calluce Isle. _Marco didn’t spare the envelope a second glance and tossed it onto one of the nearby piles. He got back to work, completely disregarding the report. Marco yawned hugely. He hadn’t slept in about 2 days._ Ace is lucky…he can get away with falling asleep any time he wants. _Marco snorted thinking of the various incidents Ace’s narcolepsy had caused. Marco smiled, thinking of his newest crewmate._ Ace…I wonder what he’s up to now. When I sent him on that solo mission four days ago, I thought it would only take him about 2… _Marco felt a pang of worry and bit his lip._ Ace can handle it. He’s strong and resourceful, not to mention a freaking _genius_. I’m sure he’s fine. I’m just overreacting. It’s his first solo mission, he’s probably just taking his time to make sure he does it right. It’s not exactly like I gave him a hard assignment, right? I just told him to gather intel on a low-level marine base. He can handle it. Calluce Isle isn’t exactly jumping with activity or importance.

…

…Wait.

Calluce.

  _Marco’s eyes landed on the clean white square of paper. “Shit.”  Marco lunged for the envelope, seizing it roughly, knocking over a stack of papers in the process. He tore it open and his eyes were met by Ace’s neat, small handwriting._

Allow me to preface this by saying this was most assuredly _not_ my fault.

 

_The last time Ace had said something wasn’t his fault, Marco’s hair had been bright purple and most of the crewmembers had been covered in craft glitter for weeks._

Assuming this was delivered to Marco, you’re probably remembering the glitter incident.

 

_Marco scowled. The damn kid knew him too well._

Stop scowling. You wouldn’t want your face to stick like that, would you?

 

_…Well fuck. Am I really that predictable?_

Okay. Now, are you holding anything breakable, are you near anything flammable, are you drinking any liquids, anything like that? If so, set it down and step away.

 

_Marco did_ not _like where this was going. Not. One. Fucking. Bit._

Are we good? Alright. Firstly, I would like to say once more, this is _not_ my fault. Oh, I forgot to ask if you were standing near anything you didn’t want to be horrifically disfigured and/or destroyed. No? Good. If yes, step away.

 

 _“Get_ on _with it, Ace.” Marco’s voice was almost a growl._

Alright, alright. Don’t get your feathers in a tangle. (Although watching you preen _is_ ridiculously hilarious.)

 

_Marco, with a massive effort of will, resisted the urge to torch the note._

_Anyways_ , before I tell you the actual purpose of this note, I would like to remind you what a decent, wonderful, caring, _merciful_ example of a human being you are. Truly. I mean, you are just an outstanding specimen of human morality, compassion, decency, and forgiveness.

 

_Alright. Who the_ hell _gave Ace a thesaurus for his birthday?_

 

As such, I’m sure that a person of such breathtaking and humbling character will find it in their heart not to rupture all my internal organs when we next meet.

 

 _Marco felt his body tense._ This isn’t good.   _Marco knew that whatever came next was just going to make. His. Fucking. Day._

 

I want you to promise me something, alright? Don’t freak out. Really. It’s not that bad. There’s really nothing to worry about here. Just relax. Sit down, maybe. Take some deep breaths. Meditate. Ponder. Contemplate. Mull over. Reflect. Consider. Deliberate. Go into zen-mode. Whatever you need to do to not cause the ship to explode.

 

_Marco could almost hear Ace taking a deep breath._

…I’ve been captured by marines.

 

…And it’d probably be good if someone got here before they execute me.

 

_Marco stared at the note. He blinked at it a few times. The words didn’t change. The black ink still sat on the page staring up at him. Marco stared at the words. The words stared at him. Their meaning finally clicked in Marco’s brain._

_“Holy shit!” Marco leapt from his chair. It fell to the floor with a wooden bang. He transformed into his bird form in the blink of an eye and launched himself out the window. Behind him, the stacks of paper whirled in the sudden air current from his wings, scattering all about the room, some even following him out the window and into the sea below._

_“Ace you son of a bitch, when I get there, you are in_ such _deep shit.” Marco was pissed at Ace for getting his idiot self captured, but more than that anger he felt panic and terror for his friend rising in him. “Don’t you dare…don’t you even fucking_ think _about dying.”_

_Ace sat in a small, badly lit cell. As far as interrogation chambers went, this one seemed fairly stereotypical. Ace was chained to a wall. The seastone shackles binding him had already rubbed his wrists and ankles to the point of bleeding. Ace was pretty sure they were going to get infected soon, but seeing as he was currently chained to a wall in a base full of people who hated him, there wasn’t much he could do about it._

_Ace closed his eyes and listened intently. He could hear footsteps on the floor above him, what sounded like a group of maybe 20 or more people moving around. The sounds of joviality and the general ruckus of a large group of people seeped through the floorboards, and Ace assumed that it was probably the dining hall above him. Ace felt hunger raise its head and protest its existence._

_He had been here for 4 days now. He had been able to break out long enough to send the letter back to the Moby Dick, but after that they had raised the security around him and he hadn’t been able to escape again. That was 3 days ago._ Marco? Thatch? Anyone? Is anyone even coming? Maybe my letter was lost, or the bird couldn’t find the ship, or maybe something happened back on the ship and they can’t come, or maybe- _Ace cut off his own train of thought harshly._

Damn it Ace, pull yourself together. I’m sure your letter got there. Help is on the way. You’re not alone here. _Ace looked around his cell. It was similar…it was so damned_ similar _. Ace felt dreadful familiarity arc down his spine. He shut his eyes tightly and grit his teeth._ No. This is different. You’re not ten years old. You’re not powerless anymore. _All the same, Ace felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach. Footsteps came down the hall._

 _“How’s our little dipshit pirate doing today?” Ace heard the door to his cell open on unoiled hinges. Footsteps came across the cell. Ace left his eyes closed, trying to force down the memories that were crawling through his mind. The footsteps stopped about a foot away from Ace. “What’s the mater? You seem a little tense.” Ace could practically hear the smile on the man’s face. “Are you afraid?”_ Yes, but not of you. _Ace took a deep breath and shoved his fear back, forcing a wry smile._

_“What? Of you?” Ace snorted. “Sorry, but it’ll take more than a little girl playing dress-up to scare me.” The man grabbed a fistful of Ace’s hair and yanked his head up so he was looking at him. He was smiling coldly._

_“I’ve got an idea. Today we’re going to play a game. It’s quite simple, really. I call it Truth or Die. You’re going to answer my questions with truth and nothing but the truth, and I won’t tear you apart piece by fucking piece. How does that sound?” Ace faked a yawn. The man scowled and slammed Ace’s head into the wall. Ace’s vision flashed white and it was a struggle not to lose consciousness. Once his vision returned to normal, he smiled up at the man._

_“Oh, dear me. I think you’ve given me amnesia. I’m not sure how much fun this game of yours is going to be now.” The man took a step back, smiling cruelly._

_“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’re going to have a_ very _good time.” He stepped back further and nodded. Several marines closed around Ace. He scowled up at them, snarling insults and threats. The marines actually paused for a moment. Ace may not be able to use his devil fruit right now thanks to the damned seastone, but he could still be dangerous. He had broken the necks of the guards to the cell area when he had escaped. He had needed to. There had been no other way to get by. Ace didn’t revel in the death he knew he could and had caused, but that didn’t mean he was afraid of killing people. Death was necessary, sometimes. Ace believed that many people truly did deserve death, but very,_ very _few in this life deserved to suffer. Every time he took a life, he did it as quickly and painlessly as possible. He had been told that people feared death, but he didn’t. Those people didn’t know the meaning of true fear. That fear is the fear to live another moment because it would be infinitely worse than anything death could possibly hold. Ace had known this fear intimately, and yet it still terrified him just as much as it had the first time he felt it. Ace could hear the officer laughing at the hesitating marines._

 _“Now, now. He can’t hurt you. The seastone keeps him from using his devil fruit and the shackles keep him from attacking you. He’s powerless!” Ace heard the word and his fear returned. Oh he_ hated _that word. Powerless. He’d been powerless once before, and knew exactly how much that one word could mean. The marines closed around Ace and seized him roughly, bringing him to his feet and hauling him across the room. It took Ace a moment to see where they were going, but once he did, he felt a chill shoot through him. It was a chair. A simple metal chair. Ace’s struggling grew more desperate. The marines overpowered him though and hauled him onto the chill surface._

 _Leather straps were put in place over Ace, binding his torso and arms to the cold object. Ace’s fear tripled. He knew this chair. Or one just like it, at any rate. The marine in front of Ace turned around and suddenly Ace was ten years old again, strapped to a metal chair, blood flowing from his body as the scalpel cut, cut,_ cut! _But never deep enough…never deep enough! Never to bring the one release Ace knew he could still have. Death. Death was his only way out. Ace blinked, and the memory faded._

_But the fear didn’t._

_The marine in front of Ace approached, a cocky smile on his face. In his hands he was holding a pair of pincers. Clenched between the pincer’s jaws was a glowing red coal._

_“I have a deep appreciation for irony. This is truly perfect, yes?” The man walked closer and Ace’s eyes remained fixed on the coal. “Now, the next time you open your mouth, you’re going to tell me the exact coordinates of Whitebeard’s ship, which divisions are currently stationed aboard it, and any weaknesses Whitebeard or the commanders have. This, or you’ll never speak again. Hot coals really do terrible things to the vocal chords when you swallow them, you know.” And Ace_ did _know. He knew_ exactly _how much this would hurt. He had tried to scream, last time, but all that had come up was blood. Ace took a deep breath._ I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I must face my fear and I must stand against it and it will pass through me, then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain. _Ace shoved his fear aside, trying to be confident._ _Ace looked up at the marine and smiled._

_“_ _Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if it had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice.” The marine scowled and punched Ace hard across the face. Ace’s lip split and he tasted blood. He took a deep breath, then grinned up at the marine. “Not a fan of Frost, are we? I must say, I always preferred Eliot myself.” The officer scowled, then looked to the other marines._

_“Open his mouth.”_

_Marco flew wildly. For the past 2 days he had been making a beeline for Calluce Isle. He knew he was taking too long, that Ace needed his help_ now, _but there was nothing he could do to make himself go any faster._ Hold on, Ace. I’m coming. Just a little longer. I’m almost there. _Marco raised his eyes to the horizon and blinked. A small, nearly invisible black smudge was slowly growing on the horizon.  He felt relief wash over him. He grinned mentally._ Yes. There it is. I’m almost there, Ace. _Marco flew towards the approaching island with renewed vigor, diving lower towards the water to increase his speed._

_After what felt like an eternity to Marco, he was finally over land instead of water. Calluce was a fairly small island, unimportant by anyone’s standards. The marine base here was overly large for such a small island, used mainly for training new recruits. Before now, Marco hadn’t considered the island important enough to send anyone to investigate, but the base had shown recent activity, particularly around several islands in the area under Whitebeard’s control. Marco had sent Ace in because if the marines were actually stupid enough to try to pull something on one of their islands, Marco wanted to know how to hit them hard._

_Marco regained altitude, flying high above the marine base so as to blend in with the sky. He quickly surveyed the outside of the place. Marco had never sent anyone in there besides Ace, so he had no idea what the layout of the place was like. Marco clenched his jaw._ Damn it. I have no idea where the cellblock is on this place. _Marco’s eyes scanned over the building once more. It was a small, squat building. Fairly unassuming, it’s only notable feature being a large parade grounds._ Based on the size, the prison is probably underground. _Marco surveyed the place for a moment longer._ …Screw it.

_Marco dove, body almost perpendicular to the ground, wings tucked flat against his body. He was aiming to land in the parade grounds. There was some kind of drill going on, but Marco didn’t think he could bring himself to give less of a shit. Marco hurtled towards the ground, quickly reaching terminal velocity. The wind rushed by, deafening him and tugging at his feathers. About 100 feet above the ground, Marco flipped over so he was upright and half-transformed back to a human. He left the wings, though. He spread them to their fullest, slowing his breakneck descent. One of the marines apparently looked up and cried out because suddenly all the faces turned up to Marco._

_Marco hit the ground, coming to rest in a kneeling position. All around him, the marines were staring in shock and awe. Marco looked up and the ones in front of him flinched back, fear keen on their faces. Marco smirked._

_“Boo!” He moved as if going to run towards them, and instantly half of them bolted, dropping their weapons and running for the exit. The officer present tried to call them back, but none stopped or slowed. Marco looked between the faces of the remaining marines. Most of them were fairly young and looked terrified. Marco’s gaze was cool, and as he regarded them, he saw none too few of them tremble. He sighed._

_“I don’t like beating on kids, so I’ll make you a deal.” His eyes moved smoothly over the group. “Tell me where my friend is being kept and there won’t be any need for violence.” The officer seemed to shake himself awake._

_“Don’t be fooled, men! He’s a pirate! He’ll just kill you anyway-“ Marco flew to him in an instant, planting a kick into the man’s side. Beneath his foot he felt the crunch of breaking bones._ _The man went flying, slamming into a nearby wall. The other marines stared after him in shock. Marco landed, wings reverting to arms. His face was dark._

_“That wasn’t an answer to my question.” Marco’s voice was hard. He might not like hurting fools who didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but Ace’s welfare was infinitely more important to him. He had killed idiots like these before, and even if he didn’t enjoy it, would be willing to do it again. His gaze was no longer calm as it swept over the marines. They stared at him in utter terror. Finally one of the youngest ones there stepped forward. Marco’s eyes focused on him, his blue eyes boring into the man’s green ones. The man swallowed._

_“He-he’s being kept in the prison block.” Marco’s gaze didn’t lighten._

_“I assumed as much, thank you. Now if you’re done playing stupid games I’d like details on where that is.” The man seemed frozen in fear again, mouth slightly open. Marco took several strides towards the man and he stumbled back a few steps, trying to maintain distance between them. He tripped and fell, landing on his back. He struggled to stand, but Marco was faster. He grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and half-lifted him so they were face to face. Marco’s eyes were cold and his other hand was raised in preparation to strike, engulfed in blue flames._

_“Where. Is. My. Friend?” The man lifted his hands to shield his face._

_“I-I don’t know! He’s somewhere on sublevel 5, but I don’t know what wing they’re keeping him in!” The man was truly shaking, trembling in terror. Marco knew that if the man had known anything else he would have spoken at that point.  Marco sighed and lifted the man to his feet. As soon as he released him the man ran back a few steps, merging back into the crowd. Marco addressed all of the remaining marines._

_“Unless you intend to fight me, get out now. I’m going to be breaking my friend out of this place, so unless you want to be involved in any…_ messiness _that follows, leave.” The group remained standing there, staring at him. Marco took a threatening step towards them and instantly they took off, dropping weapons, some raising their hands in the air as a sign of surrender. After he was sure they were gone, Marco turned back towards the building. He engulfed his arms in blue flames, deep scowl on his face._

_“It’s time to teach you fucktards a lesson on just who you decide to mess with.”_

_Ace struggled desperately. He pressed his head back against the metal of the chair. For the last 10 minutes, the marines had been struggling to get Ace to open his mouth. Ace, though, with adrenaline pumping through him like electricity, had proved to be more of a challenge than they thought. One of the men was holding Ace’s head still, and another reached for his mouth. Ace waited until the man’s hand was covering his mouth, then moved._

_Ace’s teeth snapped shut around the man’s hand. Ace bit down as hard as he could, jaws aching with the effort. The man screamed and pulled his hand away. He stared at the bleeding appendage in horror, as if he couldn’t believe it was his own. He looked up from the pumping blood back to Ace. Ace grinned at him and spat out the two fingers he had managed to bite off, as well as the mess of blood that had come with them. The man stared at him for a moment longer, then took some hesitant steps back, eyes still locked on Ace’s own._

_“Holy shit.” The man looked between his mutilated, bleeding hand and Ace’s red-stained face. Ace continued to grin toothily at him, and after a moment the man turned and sprinted out of the cell. “K-Keep him away from me! Keep that demon away!” The other marines stared at Ace in shock. Ace glared between them._

_“Well? Who’s next?” The officer sighed and turned away, picking something else up. He turned back around and Ace tracked his movements back towards him. The marine checked the pistol’s cartridge, turning it about in the light._

_“Honestly you all are useless.”  His voice was nonchalant and disinterested. He turned back to Ace, pressing the pistol against Ace’s shoulder and pulling the trigger. Ace gasped as bright, radiating pain flared into existence. As soon as he did, though, something cold and hard was shoved into his mouth, prying it open wider. Ace’s eyes widened and he stared about the room with renewed terror. His shoulder hurt like a bitch, hot blood trickling down his side, but he knew that that pain would very soon seem like nothing but a minor annoyance._

_The officer picked up the pincers again, grabbing a fresh coal from a nearby brazier. Ace’s pulse was pounding in his ears, thudding deafeningly loud. His eyes focused on the coal, which was growing closer at an alarming rate. His heart rate quickened, as did his breathing. Ace’s fear grew stronger and stronger the closer the coal came. Ace struggled desperately, writhing against the bindings and the man holding his head still. Ace’s pulse pounded louder still, and Ace was sure if it was any louder it would beat out of his chest. Ace’s mind was playing tricks on him. He kept seeing flashes of his old cell, and a different face was painted on the marine officer. Several times near the walls or in corners of the room he thought he saw the White Rabbit or one of Wonderland’s other inhabitants. Ace looked back to the officer and he was no longer human. He was the Jabberwocky._

_A wide, dog-like mouth dribbled sticky saliva, a single row of large, canine teeth gleaming behind the hanging lips. The head was composed entirely of the mouth. After the mouth ended, the head simply sloped directly back into the neck. It had no eyes, no nose. The body was hunched over. Bipedal, yet contorted. The arms were those of a lizard with deadly claws. One leg was that of a bird, but the foot was balled up. Its own talons pierced through the meat of its foot, poking out through the top. The other foot was that of a goat, the cloven hoof sharp and precise. It had a long neck, but it currently had its head close to its torso. It inhaled once, then shrieked at Ace. Its voice was the squeal of the dying rabbit and the triumphant screech of the raptor killing it. The thing flared its wings. They were grisly appendages, made of the wings of countless birds smashed together and forced to be one object. Each individual wing fluttered on its own, as if seeking freedom from the monstrosity. The entire mass was covered in pink, wrinkled skin like that of a hairless cat. Behind it trailed the tail of a rat, moving separately as if the appendage was its own being. It raised one of its hands and between its fingers Ace saw it was holding a bright, ripe cherry._

_“Come back to us, Ace. We’ve missed you dearly.” The voice was a combination of every inhabitant of Wonderland, yet as they came out of the Jabberwocky’s throat, they were indistinct, neither fully individual nor mashed together. Ace watched as the Jabberwocky grew closer with the cherry._ Wonderland…I wonder what you’re like now. _Ace felt his curiosity as well as the instinctive fear of the torment he knew was still coming. Part of Ace’s mind beat against him._ No! You fool! Escape? To where? Deeper madness still? _And yet that voice wasn’t enough because it was the Jabberwocky that had come._

_Because it had one last advantage._

_The Jabberwocky’s mouth was still open and its tongue danced out from between its jaws. Ace’s eyes were focused solely on that. The Jabberwocky’s tongue was a human arm. Its hand moved slowly, as if conducting music. Ace’s eyes remained fixed on the hand-tongue and in his mind he heard the music it commanded._

_Happy birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday to you._

_Happy birthday dear damned one,_

_Happy birthday to you._

_The music in Ace’s mind was loud, drowning out any thought he might have had. Ace heard the music and its effects began taking hold. That cherry couldn’t be anything dangerous, it was his birthday present. Nobody gave anyone anything dangerous on their birthday. Ace felt a smile tug the edge of his mouth. Why not go to Wonderland? Everyone was waiting to celebrate his birthday._ It’s July 18th. _The tiny thought slipped through the song and Ace paused, confusion growing inside of him._ But then…then it wouldn’t be my birthday… _Ace shook his head. The music was taking over again._ That voice is a lie. It must be. Why would the Jabberwocky lie to me? It wouldn’t. The only lie in Wonderland is the lie I tell myself.

“ _And what lie would that be?” Ace heard the familiar voice and looked for its source. He couldn’t find it, though, and addressed the room at large._

_“The lie of Wonderland itself, of course.” Ace saw a large, white-toothed grin floating in midair._

_“Still just as good as ever, Ace.” Ace looked at the grin._

_“Can you tell me what the date is?” The grin widened._

_“How many times must I tell you? I don’t answer questions. By the by, I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”_

_A low boom sounded from above. The whole room shook minutely, dust raining down from the ceiling. Ace jerked as the sound shattered through the Jabberwocky’s song and Ace thought he heard someone chuckle as the surreal images faded, the Jabberwocky replaced by the officer, the mid-air grin dissipating to nothing. Ace looked up, as did the others, trying to locate the source of the sound.  A second boom followed the first. Then another. Then another. The booms stopped, and for a moment the room fell to silence. A voice, muted by distance and interfering objects shouted._

_“Marco!” Ace felt hope surge inside his chest. With a massive effort he spat out the wedge holding his mouth open. He took a deep breath._

_“Polo!” Ace shouted the word as loud as he could. A moment later another boom followed, nearer than the last._

_“Marco!” Ace was grinning now._

_“Polo!” The marines were staring around in confusion. The officer looked to Ace with dawning realization._

_“Shut him up!”_

_“Marco!” One of the marines struck Ace across the face but Ace clung to consciousness._

_“Polo!” A series of booms, much closer than the last, followed. Ace heard something on their floor crumble or collapse in a loud rumble, followed by another shout._

_“Marco!” Ace could have laughed from relief at this point._

_“Polo!” The officer turned to his men._

_“Go out there! Stop him!” The marines looked at him in horror. “Go!” The marines left the cell, but Ace noticed with a smirk they were heading for the stairs, not the fast approaching voice._

_“Marco!” The voice was close now, very close. The officer was looking around for an exit or some excuse, but found only incriminating evidence all around him. He looked to Ace._ He’s my only ticket out of here. _Ace lifted his voice again._

_“Polo!” Footsteps could be heard approaching now. A figure came running around the corner, finally coming into sight. Ace’s grin widened. “Marco!” Said pirate turned to Ace and an equally large smile formed on his face. He chuckled._

_“Polo.” Ace laughed for a moment, relief and joy washing over him. He cut off suddenly as something pushed against his forehead with a click._

_“Stop right there, if you please.” Ace looked up and saw the officer. He was holding the pistol directly against Ace’s head, standing in front of Ace and facing Marco. Marco stopped, grin leaving his face and a truly deadly look coming into his eyes. He neither moved nor spoke, though. The officer smiled, knowing his advantage._

_“Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to be leaving here with him. You’ll be coming with us.” He tossed a pair of seastone shackles to Marco. “Put those on, if you please.” Marco glared at the man. “Oh, now that’s a scary face. I’m not sure if I altogether like it.” He moved the gun, pressing it against Ace’s thigh and firing. Ace gasped and grit his teeth, biting back a yell.  Marco looked to his friend, deep concern on his face._

_“Ace!” Ace took some deep breaths._

_“M’alright.” The marine grinned at Marco’s distress._

_“The handcuffs, please. I’m not a very patient man.” Marco grit his teeth and locked the seastone bands around one wrist, moving slowly, delaying putting it over the other. The marine laughed then moved again, unstrapping Ace’s legs from the chair. Once Ace’s legs were completely free, Ace looked to Marco, meeting his eyes. He moved his mouth silently, not actually speaking. Three, two, one._

_Once he finished the countdown, he lashed out with his right foot. His kick caught the marine in the side of the knee, and with a painful crunch the man’s knee bent horribly to the left. The man screamed, taking his eyes off Marco. Marco crossed the room in an instant, kicking the man hard across the jaw. There was the sound of more cracking as the man’s head spun past its natural limit and he was sent flying into a wall. He didn’t move again. Marco turned back to Ace, taking in his bruised and bleeding appearance for the first time._

_“Holy shit! What the hell’d they do to you?” Marco bent down, unstrapping Ace’s arms and torso. He looked around the room and saw the discarded pincers, still holding the smoldering coal. He turned to Ace in horror, but Ace saw the underlying guilt. “Oh my god, did they really-“_

_“No, Marco. They didn’t.” He smiled at the blonde, forcing back a shudder as he looked at the coal. “You got here in time.” He looked about the room for something to use as a crutch, but didn’t find anything. He blinked and looked back to Marco. He was standing facing towards Ace, hand outstretched. Ace smiled and, with Marco’s help, stood, leaning on his shoulder, keeping the weight off his injured leg._

_Progress out of the base was slow, stairs being particularly difficult. Marco would have just flown the two of them out, but thanks to the cuff around one of his wrists, that wasn’t an option. Ace wasn’t really thinking about the journey or the pain in his leg and shoulder though. After another moment of deliberation, he finally spoke up._

_“Marco…why did you do it? I mean, for a moment there you were actually about to give yourself up. It wouldn’t have changed anything, it would have just meant you dying too. So why?” They had stopped walking. Marco smiled quietly._

_“What kind of a person would abandon their otouto when there was something they could do to help?” Ace blinked._

_“Otouto…” Marco nodded gently._

_“That’s right. You’re family. Seeing you in pain…I can’t do it. I can’t just standby and watch.” Ace swallowed thickly, feeling tears threatening._ Family…I have a family. How long has it been just Luffy and me? But now…

Now I have an older brother.

 _Several hours later, the two were aboard Ace’s boat. They were several miles offshore, Calluce fading to no more than an indistinct smudge once more. It was night now and the stars were shining brilliantly. Ace had managed to pick the locks on the shackles and Marco was perched in full bird form on the mast of the small boat. Below him, Ace was sleeping on deck, curled up under a blanket.  Marco smiled down at the gently snoring teen._ Yes, Ace. You _are_ my little brother. That’s why, as long as there’s so much as a speck of strength left in me, I’ll never let you suffer again. You’ll never be alone again.

I promise.

 

 _And what a_ damn _fine job you’ve done at keeping_ that _promise, Marco. Ace has been suffering this whole time and what did you do? Nothing. That’s right. Absolutely_ nothing _._ A tear slid down Marco’s face. _How could I have let him face this alone? What kind of failure am I, that I can’t even tell when my own brother needs me?_

Selma glanced between the three. “And that’s not all. Ace…Whoever did this to him really didn’t want him going anywhere.” She took a deep breath, pausing for a moment. “Both of his legs were broken. Just…snapped. The bones had only just begun to heal. With the shape his legs are in now…Ace could barely walk. It’s nothing short of a miracle they weren’t re-broken when he was struggling against Jozu’s men.” She trailed off for a moment, and finally a tear did escape from her eye. “He must have been in so much pain…” Her voice was quiet, only audible because of the silence of the room. Whitebeard’s eyes were closed, his jaw set. His voice too was very quiet.

“Who did this to him?” His voice was full of rage and anguish. Ace had needed them, had needed his family’s help, and they hadn’t been there for him. He had been in pain, and they hadn’t realized it. True he had hidden his injuries, but somehow, someway, they should have known what he was going through. Guilt and pain tightened like a noose around Whitebeard’s heart. His jaw tightened. And he’s still in pain. The image of Ace running towards the mirror flashed through Whitebeard’s mind. He’s lying on that bed _terrified_ while his own mind tears him apart. Selma continued looking at the floor.

“I…I don’t know. I mean, who could be capable of doing this to a human being, much less a child?” The room fell silent, each sinking into their own personal despair. Selma took a deep breath. “I’m going back in to finish my examination now. Hopefully it won’t take as long, but I make no promises.” Whitebeard nodded, and Selma, setting her shoulders, walked back into the infirmary.

Marco stared at the floor without really seeing it. Guilt lay like poison in Marco’s stomach. Marco shook his head. _I don’t have time for this now. What’s done is done. I can’t atone for my mistake yet, but I can-I_ will _. What’s important now is helping Ace._ Marco glanced at the infirmary door. _But who could have possibly done this?_ Marco furrowed his brows, closing his eyes.

_“My name’s Sabo.”_

_“SABO!” Ace was shouting now, Marco fighting desperately to keep him from falling off the bed. Ace was thrashing wildly, limbs tangled in his blankets. A moment later tears began falling from Ace’s eyes. “Sabo…”_

_“Onboard the ship was a boy, about my age, named Sabo. Sabo and I became friends and I began to see him as another member of my family. But…” Again Ace trailed off, closing his eyes. “…But the marines got in a fight with a pirate crew. Not Shanks’ thank god, but Sabo was killed in the battle. I’d had to bury another member of my family. I didn’t have his body, but he damn well deserved more of a funeral than the marines gave him.”_

 

Marco knew now that at least part of that was a lie. Sabo hadn’t been a marine; he had been a prisoner like Ace.  _And the officer…?_ Marco’s eyes shot open.

_“You son of a bitch!”_

_“I barely recognized you.”_

_“You don’t know what he’s done, he deserves to die!”_

_“Not gonna have any more fuckin’ nightmares.”_

_“Nothing in this entire world is worse than helplessness.”_

Marco’s breathing was uneven. His eyes were wide. “My god…”

 

_Hare smiled. “How’s Sabo doing?”_


	19. Chapter 19

Marco spun around. “Guys I-“ Just then the door to the infirmary burst open, Selma rushing out into the hall. Her face was a mask of complete fury, and every muscle in her body seemed tensed, ready to tear something apart. Her voice was harsh and almost loud enough to be considered shouting.

“Where is he? _Where is he_? I’ll _kill_ that son of a bitch!” All three were looking at her in surprise. Whitebeard and Thatch looked confused, but Marco realized she must have discovered the same thing he did. Thatch took a hesitant step towards his enraged crewmate.

“Selma, calm down. Who are you talking-“ Selma turned to look at him, mask of passionate hatred still on her face.

“ _Where. Is. Edward. Hare?_ ” Thatch blinked at her in surprise.

“I-I don’t know. But what does he have to do with this?” Selma’s expression didn’t lighten.

“His name was only carved into Ace’s _shoulder.”_ Selma spat the words, snarling. “That lying, two-faced, inhuman _monster! Where is he?!”_ Thatch stepped back, eyes wide. Whitebeard was staring at her in open shock but a moment later, his face became just as angry.

“He’s the one that did all this? Are you sure?” Whitebeard’s voice was the kind of pissed that isn’t conveyed by shouting. His voice was as smooth as usual, but had such a coldness to it that it was obvious that whatever came next was going to end in blood. Selma looked at him and nodded assent. Whitebeard drew out his den-den mushi, speaking into it with absolute authority. “My children. This is an order. From this point onwards you are to apprehend the marine Edward Hare on sight. If this isn’t possible, kill him. Report any sightings of him directly to me.”

The commanders must have caught on to Whitebeard’s tone, for less than a moment later, a voice echoed through the receiver. “Oyaji, I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’ll be possible. Edward Hare left the ship two hours ago. With the size and build of his boat, he’s long gone by now. We won’t be able to pursue effectively. Please, why is this so important?” Whitebeard had closed his eyes, scowling. He was trying hard not to crush the snail in his hand, rage pumping through him faster and hotter than blood. His voice was cold when he next spoke.

“Edward Hare is the man responsible for Ace’s current condition.” Gasps and other sounds of surprise came through the snail.

“Ace’s current condition…Wait, but doesn’t Ace have PTSD? Are you saying that Hare did something that gave Ace _posttraumatic stress disorder_?”

“Yes. And that’s why if he is _ever_ spotted again, if his ship is _ever_ in range, _I. Want. Him. Dead.”_ The voices on the other line didn’t hesitate for an instant, the positive responses coming out in various levels of anger ranging from pissed off to complete outrage.

“Understood.”

“Nobody fucks with our crew and gets away with it.”

“Hare’s going to get one hell of a surprise if he thinks he can just hurt one of our brothers and walk away.”

“That fucker’s days are numbered.”

“That bastard!”

“I hope he realizes just who the hell he pissed off.”

“He’s going to pay for what he’s done.”

Whitebeard smiled at his sons’ responses. They all contained a righteous fury, prepared to exact vengeance on someone who really deserved it. Whitebeard turned back to Marco and Thatch. His anger hadn’t faded, but he had it under control now and was thinking rationally.

“That’s about all we can do for now. Hare can’t hide from us forever. It’s just a matter of time. What’s more important now is that we have to help Ace. From here on out, Ace’s memories aren’t going to be pleasant. I’d understand if either of you wanted to stop now. Seeing this kind of thing…it isn’t just watching. There’s more emotion to it than that. If either of you want to pull out, do it now. We won’t be taking any more breaks until Ace is back.” Marco and Thatch looked at Whitebeard evenly. Marco spoke.

“Ace needs us and trusted us enough to let us in. Abandon him when he’s placed this much faith in us? Abandon my otouto when he’s asking for my help? Never.” Thatch nodded agreement, face set. Whitebeard nodded back at them and raised his voice.

“Serpent!”

 

* * *

 

            Serpent looked at the three pirates. “Are you ready? What you’ve seen so far is just the beginning. Are you sure you can stomach what’s coming?” All three nodded. “Alright. Here we go. Close your eyes.” The three did, and Serpent approached each in turn, touching them gently. Each crumpled to the floor ungracefully, completely limp. Serpent looked at the three, something akin to sympathy or pity in her eyes. “It’s going to be hard to watch. Good luck.”

 

* * *

            At first Marco’s vision was just a smudge of darkness, but as the moments passed it grew more in focus, the bars and walls forming themselves out of the darkness, Ace’s small shape near the back wall becoming clearer and clearer.

            “My name’s Sabo.” Ace pushed himself up into a sitting position.

            “I’m Ace.” Ace thought he heard sounds of movement from the cell beside his.

            “So why are you here?” Ace snorted.

            “Family problems. You?”

            “I suppose you could consider mine something similar. My father was a world noble. I hated his guts. I hated our whole society’s guts. I’d been manipulating his bank accounts for years to fund the revolutionaries. Everyone blamed him for the “misspent” money, so being part of his family is now a crime. Therefore and thusly, I’m here.” Ace nodded. That reason sounded like the kind of thing the world government would order the arrest of a child for, corrupt, pig-headed aristocrats that they were. Ace grinned.

            “Wanna get out of here?”

            “Wh-What? Escape?” The grin stayed on Ace’s face.

            “Yeah. We’re still close to the island I come from. If we grab something that floats before we go, we’re close enough to swim back.” Sabo sounded mildly exasperated.

            “Ace, that doesn’t solve the problems of the locked cells or armed marines.” Ace pushed himself to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, probably from the blood-loss of the day and the probable concussion he had got when the marines first captured him, but was able to walk over to the door without leaning on the wall for support.

            “Don’t worry about the doors, I’ve got them covered. As for the marines, I don’t suppose you know what time of day it is? If it’s night time, that’ll be best. Unfortunately, unless you have some kind of watch or other timepiece, it’s just going to have to be a gamble. We can probably sneak through the majority of the occupied rooms, but once we get to the deck we’re going to have to just all-out sprint. They’ll be caught off-guard, which gives us the advantage.”

            “Ace…but what about your back? And I know you haven’t seen me yet, but I’m not in exactly perfect condition either. That’s _salt water_ out there.” Ace reached under the bottom of the left leg of his pants. Felling along the underside of the fabric, he found the seam he was looking for and tore it, taking the bottom inch of his shorts with it. Ace opened the fabric and squinted in the darkness. A grin came to his face. The entire set of lock picks was still there. Again squinting in the near-blackness, Ace selected a rake pick from the set, reaching around through the bars and inserting it into the lock. Moving slowly so as to be quiet, he raked the head of the pick over the pins of the lock, getting a feel for the interior of the lock cylinder.

            “These are our choices, Sabo. We can stay here and that marine will do god-knows-what to us until we die, or we can try this. Yes, there is quite the possibility of death with this option, but if I’m going to die, I want it to be on my own terms. Stay here if you like, but I’m at least going to try to escape.” There was a moment of silence.

            “I’m coming.” Ace grunted his approval. He withdrew the rake pick and switched, grabbing instead a half-diamond pick and a tension wrench. He inserted them into the lock and deftly manipulated the interior pins, pushing each to their respective shear lines. With a definitive click the lock gave way, the plug turning to the right.  Ace withdrew the picks and pulled the door. It swung inwards silently on well-oiled hinges. Ace felt a surge of triumph.

            “Alright, I got my door open. I’ll come and do yours now. Are you shackled or do you have free movement?”

            “I’m not shackled. Ace, you have to hurry. There’s no telling when the marine’s are going to come down here to check up on us.” Ace walked to Sabo’s cell, again lifting the picks and fiddling delicately with the lock mechanism. A moment later this lock clicked as well and the door was open. Ace pushed open the door.

            “Let’s go, Sabo. Not getting any younger here.” There was a rustling of fabric, and through the darkness Ace could discern movement. Sabo stepped out into the better-lit hallway and Ace blinked. “Oh my god. How long have you been here?” Sabo had pulled on a dark, elegant, mildly dilapidated dress coat. Even though it covered the majority of his torso, the remains of a once-white shirt were visible beneath it. The shirt was stained with dried blood, caking one shoulder entirely in the dark red-brown, the stain continuing down under the sleeve of the coat. A purple-red bruise painted one of his cheekbones, and a smaller, darker one graced the lower part of the right side of his jaw. He grinned and Ace saw he was missing a tooth.

            “Too damn long. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Ace smiled back.

            “Right.” Ace turned, looking down the hallway at a flight of stairs. “When they brought me in, we came from that direction. I couldn’t see, so I can’t be absolutely sure of directions beyond ‘we have to go up.’” Sabo nodded and the two began making their way up the stairs, moving silently.

            Passing through several unoccupied hallways and up another flight of stairs, Ace felt certain they were nearing the deck. They’d had a close call when a group of marines had come around a corner unexpectedly. Ace had been able to pull Sabo and himself out of sight before the marines had seen them, but it had been a near thing. The two came to another corner and Ace stopped them, pressing against the wall and listening. He could hear no sounds of movement from down the hallway, and moving slowly he stuck his head around the corner just enough that he could see down the hallway. There was a flight of stairs leading up to a sturdy wooden door. A real smile came to Ace’s face.

            “Sabo, I think I see the way out! We’re almost there!”  Ace looked back to the other boy grinning and saw his own relief and happiness reflected in Sabo’s face. A moment later, he sobered. “Okay, when we get on deck, it’s really just going to be sprinting as fast as possible. We still don’t know whether it’s day or night, but either way we’re going to have to move fast. The main objective is to get over the rail and off the ship. Best-case scenario? We hijack a lifeboat. Worst case? We just have to swim. Whatever happens, the most important thing is getting off of the ship.” Sabo nodded and the two walked down the last hallway and up the stairs. They stopped a moment at the door. Ace looked Sabo in the eye and Sabo nodded again. Ace nodded back. “Three. Two. One. Go!”

            Ace flung the door wide and both burst out onto the deck, sprinting as hard as they could. Ace felt a little hope fall as the sunlight dazzled him. It was still daytime. Or had an entire day already passed? Either way, it meant more marines out on deck. Ace took a moment to get his bearings, then began sprinting again, heading for the edge of the deck. He heard a marine shout in surprise and realized their advantage was almost up. He glanced to each side and saw Sabo running a little ways to his right.

            “Stop them.” Ace heard the voice and a small chill shot down his spine. The officer didn’t sound angry, didn’t sound upset. He didn’t even sound surprised to see them. Ace glanced over to check on Sabo and saw he was still running. The other marines were beginning to react, running towards Sabo and Ace.

            Ace hissed as several marines leapt in front of him, dodging to the left before they could grab him. “Shit.”

            The officer’s voice was as cool and collected as ever. “Use whatever means necessary to stop them. Don’t kill them, though.” Ace saw the marines beginning to raise their guns, taking aim at him and Sabo. The gunshots began and Ace and Sabo both began dodging, moving from side to side as well as forward to make a harder target. Because of the marines’ positions on deck, they had been forced to run for the bow, making their way across the majority of the deck. There was only one marine between them and freedom now, and he was quite a ways off. He had his gun raised, but his hands were shaking. He looked fairly young, and his conscience seemed to be getting in the way of duty. Ace blinked. Yes he seemed to be dealing with his conscience, but his aim was perfect. The ‘shaking’ in his hands hadn’t been unintentional, he was tracking their movements up and down as they ran. Ace grit his teeth. _Damn this guy’s good. If he shoots, there’s a high chance that he won’t miss._ But Ace kept running. Because freedom was worth the risk of death. The marine in front of him took a deep breath.

            “S-Stop. Please. I don’t want to hurt you, so please, stop. It can’t be that bad, being prisoners, right? Stop now or I will shoot.” Ace scoffed.

            “What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘can’t be that bad’?” Ace and Sabo continued their dash, their strides bringing them closer and closer to the aiming marine. He looked completely torn. Finally he took another deep breath, steadying the gun.

Ace’s eyes widened and he instantly hit the deck. The gunshot seemed loud compared to how silent Ace’s world had gone. It was a moment of hyper-clarity, of near slow-motion for Ace. The bullet went over his head by about 3 inches as he fell to the deck, sliding on the polished wood. He heard a shout of pain from behind him and realized the bullet must have hit one of the marines pursuing him. The marine in front of him blinked, gritting his teeth. “Dammit.” He brought up the gun again, quickly changing targets. Ace’s eyes widened.

            Sabo wasn’t going to be able to dodge.

            He had been distracted when Ace slid, thinking him hit by the bullet. He had slowed down, checking if Ace was okay. In that moment while the marine was aiming, Ace realized Sabo wouldn’t be able to dodge. He also realized Sabo knew he couldn’t dodge. Looking back at the marine, Ace realized that he too knew that Sabo would be hit. Time froze as all three faced this fact. Ace’s eyes locked onto the marine’s. He looked absolutely broken with guilt. Ace saw his lips move, but barely a sound came out.

            “I’m sorry.” Ace’s eyes widened and he met the marine’s eyes.

            “No, don’t!” The marine’s eyes were focused on Sabo now, the gun growing steadier as it honed in on its target. Ace was trying to move over to Sabo, bringing himself out of the slide and trying to reach him, but he could tell he wasn’t going to make it in time. Ace saw the marine’s finger tighten on the trigger. “STOP!”

            And it did. For an instant, the entire world went completely still. But Ace didn’t. He kept running, moving through the paused moment as easily as if it were in real time. All around him marines were frozen in their positions, some reaching out from behind him to try to grab his arms, some taking badly aimed shots at him or Sabo. Ace even saw a few bullets hanging in midair.

            And then time started again.

            In that instant, three things happened. Ace grabbed Sabo, nearly all of the marines fell to the ground, unconscious, and the gun went off.  Ace’s momentum carried both he and Sabo to the ground. Sabo grunted as he hit the ground, the air being forced out of his lungs as Ace landed on top of him. The bullet hadn’t hit him. Sabo heard footsteps as the few marines left standing closed on them.

            “I’m sorry Ace. This…this is my fault.” Sabo felt something warm drip onto his chest. “Ace?” Ace was trembling lightly, his teeth clenched to keep from crying out. His shoulder was burning with pain, blood dripping steadily from the bullet hole. Sabo sat up, supporting Ace’s weight and turning him over so he was face-up. “Oh my god, Ace!” Sabo lifted a hand and pressed it against the wound, eliciting a gasp. The wound wasn’t going to be fatal, but losing too much blood would have adverse affects. Ace shut his eyes and grit his teeth, biting back a yell. Ace heard the officer give a tired sigh.

            “Take them back to the cells.”  Instantly several marines closed in from the circle, grabbing Ace and pulling him away from Sabo. Sabo was grabbed too. Ace struggled against the marines, but stopped as his shoulder shouted its protests in bright hues of pain.  As he was brought back towards the door that would lead to the lower decks, he saw the marine officer. He was standing near the railing of the ship, facing out towards the sea. Ace turned to face him, snarling.

            “You can’t keep me here. I’ll escape again.” The officer raised his hand and the men bringing Ace back to his cell stopped. The man turned to face Ace, showing his face for the first time. Edward Hare’s face was calm, devoid of nearly all emotion.

            “No. No you won’t.” He turned towards the young marine who had shot Ace, emotion still devoid from his face. His voice was nonchalant. “Break his legs. Both of them.” The marine looked at Hare in utter horror, frozen where he stood.  Once it was clear he wasn’t going to move, Hare walked over and took the rifle from his hands.

            “Give me that.” He turned and began walking towards Ace, the rifle looking comfortable and familiar in his hands. Ace felt real fear rising inside of him. He pressed back against the marines, try to get as far as possible from the approaching Hare. The marines holding his arms tugged him down a ways so that his knees were bent. As Hare drew closer still, Ace’s struggling grew more desperate, ignoring the pain from his bleeding shoulder. Hare finally stopped directly in front of him. Ace abandoned his struggling, recognizing it as futile, instead staring up at the man with widened eyes. Hare regarded him dispassionately; cool blue eyes meeting widened hazel-grey ones without empathy. Hare turned the gun in his hands, aiming the butt of the gun towards Ace and getting a firm grip on the barrel. Ace’s eyes were focused solely on the gun now, fear pumping through him. Hare raised the gun, the late afternoon light reflecting off the barrel in a flash of yellow-gold. The gun came down hard and fast on Ace’s right calf. The snap that the bone made was loud enough to be heard by everyone across the silent deck.

            And for the first time, Ace screamed.

            He hung limply between the two marines restraining him, right leg bent unnaturally. The word ‘pain’ did not even begin to describe what Ace was currently experiencing. The sensation was neither hot nor cold, having no feeling besides utter and complete agony. It blocked out any thought, any words, any protest Ace might have made, filling his mind solely with its blinding, undeniable existence. After a moment, Ace came back to his senses somewhat, slowly opening his eyes and swallowing thickly. The pain was still there, burning away any rational thinking. Ace’s breathing was uneven, coming out in gasps and small cries of pain. He watched helplessly as Hare raised the gun again and again brought it down, this time on Ace’s left leg. Ace screamed again, the same indescribable white agony arcing up his leg and purging all thoughts from his mind. Hare tossed the gun back to the marine, face as calm and collected as ever. He addressed the two marines holding Ace.

            “Back to his cell.” Ace hung between the two, unable to support his own weight. As he was carried between the two men, his legs were left to drag behind him. New pain was born with each foot he was dragged, eliciting gasps and small cries from Ace. And then they reached the stairs.

            And Ace knew what hell felt like.

            Each drop of each stair elicited its own shout of pain from Ace, a flash of agony born with each thump as his useless legs hit the bottom of each stair. The pain completely numbed Ace’s mind, no thought or feeling getting through beside the all-engulfing pain. The hallways and staircases all ran together in one bright shade of agony, and Ace’s mind blurred them together. He wasn’t sure how long it took to get back to his cell, only that it took exactly 324 steps from his guards and 58 steps over the 4 staircases they went down. Ace was thrown into his cell, automatically trying to catch himself on his feet. His legs crumpled beneath him and he gave yet another yell of pain. He heard the marines outside the bars snicker and then they began to move off, leaving Ace lying on the floor.

            Ace was trembling lightly, his entire body shaking minutely. The part of his mind that hadn’t been drowned in the torrent of his suffering said that he was going into shock, that his body had sustained too much damage for one day. Ace didn’t really care though. Too much of him hurt for him to care about the science of _why_ he hurt. His vision was blurry, the edges of things smoothing over, growing indistinct.

But he could still see the silhouette of a man outside the bars.

Ace heard him taking footsteps and saw him growing closer and blinked hard, forcing his eyes to focus. It was the officer. He smiled coldly down at Ace and lifted a scalpel. Ace’s eyes focused on the knife instantly, tracking its movements.

“Now then, let’s get that bullet out of your shoulder.” Ace didn’t know how he managed to speak, not even forming the thought fully before sound came out of his mouth.

“Stay back!” The man’s smile widened and he continued to draw closer.

“Now Ace, I’m a doctor. Quite a talented surgeon, if I do say so myself. Don’t you trust me?”

 

* * *

 

            Ace lay on the floor of his cage surrounded by a small pool of blood. Hare had left moments before, taking the only light down in the cellblock with him. Ace lay in total darkness, mind blank. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and raspy. He could barely speak anymore he was so hoarse from screaming. Eventually another light appeared, coming slowly down the hallway. Ace’s unfocused eyes tracked its progress. _Is he back already? Has it been a full day since he left?_  Ace blinked several times and forced his eyes to focus on the person approaching his cell. _It’s not the officer. Too short. Then who…?_ The light stopped outside the bars and the person came to face Ace for the first time. The unidentified eyes in the unidentified face widened.

            “Oh my god…what did he do to you?” Ace blinked the fog out of his brain and forced his eyes to focus on the person in front of him. His eyes widened.

            “You.” The rifleman that had shot Ace was staring at him in mild horror. Ace forced himself into a sitting position, pushing a hand against his still sluggishly bleeding shoulder. “What? Here to make my life worse? I’m not sure that’s really possible anymore after how much you screwed me over this afternoon.” The marine looked to the floor.

            “I…I came to apologize.” Ace snorted.

            “Apologize? And what the hell good does that do? Relieve you of your guilty conscience?”

            “I’m sorry…I-I didn’t know-“

            “Didn’t know what? That your captain was a monster? What about Sabo? Based on the fading of the bruises I saw he’s been here for _weeks_. How is it possible you ‘didn’t know’ about him?” The marine apparently could not meet his eyes.

            “I…I brought you both some food.” Ace snorted again.

            “Oh wonderful. Another gift from my oh-so-generous benefactor. I had such a _great_ time with your last gift.” He tapped his shoulder, indicating the now-removed bullet. “And even your captain seemed to like it! He enjoyed cutting it out of my shoulder with no anesthesia whatsoever, I think. Let me give you a hint about human anatomy. Another person’s fingers do not belong in your shoulder under any circumstances.” The marine was still staring at the floor.

            “I’m…I’m so sorry. You’re right, I don’t deserve forgiveness. It’s my fault you didn’t escape today. I can’t do much for you, but I can ensure that you’re fed. Captain Hare told me not to bring you food, but…I knew you’d need it. Please…let me do what little I can for you.”

            “So that’s his name? The man with the cold eyes, your captain? Hare?” The marine looked up to his face in surprise and confusion.

            “Yes, but why is that-“

            A grin came to Ace’s face. “Because. Once I get out of here, I’m going to need his name if I intend to hunt him down and kill him.” 


	20. Chapter 20

“Why did you hesitate?” The marine blinked, but Ace didn’t see it in the near-darkness.

“What?”

“Why did you hesitate? Everyone else was just firing away. You’re the first marine I’ve seen on this ship with a conscience.” The man looked at the floor.

“Because you…you remind me of someone.” Ace raised an eyebrow.

“Who?” The man smiled, but the expression spoke more of loneliness than joy.

“My son.” Ace blinked in surprise. The marine bowed his head once more. “I…I had to shoot. I couldn’t…I can’t…” A tear dripped down his face. Ace looked on in surprise as a gentle sob moved the man’s chest. “He’s…he’s about your age. Maybe a little younger. He’s only six years old. I…I keep seeing him in you, everything about you. But I want you to understand. When I pulled that trigger, I felt like I was shooting him. In your face, I saw everything that he is. Everything that I love about him. But I _had_ to shoot.” His body was shaking lightly. “He still…he still needs me. As much as it tore me apart, I had to fire. If I hadn’t, Hare would have considered it treason, and I can’t…I can’t afford to die. Not when he still needs his father…” The near silent sobs continued to wrack his frame and Ace felt his anger fade, replaced by a deep loneliness.

“What’s his name?” Ace’s voice was quiet, any trace of his former spite gone. The marine’s face pulled into a small smile, tears still leaking from his eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, the thick, durable kind used for drawing. His eyes focused on the unpracticed sketch, the lumpy people, the bright, crayon-colored faces and clothes.

“Aaron. He turned six last May.” Ace, using his hands, dragged himself over to the bars, trying to move his legs as smoothly as possible over the wooden floor. All the same, he had to bite back any sound of pain as the smooth wood slid beneath his broken limbs. He leaned back against the bars, close to the marine. The marine seemed to sense Ace’s curiosity and, after smiling down at the drawing for a moment longer, handed the sheet of paper through the bars to the sitting Ace. Ace accepted the sheet and studied the picture. He drew in a startled breath. His loneliness tripled, his chest constricting painfully. In the picture, two figures were standing on a simple background. Both were lumpy and disproportional, the childishly drawn proportions and riot of colors attesting to the youth of the artist. Scribbled sloppily above one of the figures was the word ‘me.’ Above the other, taller figure the word ‘daddy’ was written in equally messy handwriting. Drawing in a shaky breath, Ace reached into one of the pockets of his shorts. _It’s still there._

Ace drew out the folded, rumpled piece of paper and opened it slowly.

Luffy’s sloppy drawing met his eyes in its own childish guilelessness. The two figures still smiled off the sheet from their wide, uneven faces and the words still shown out in their blue wax from the crayons Ace had gotten Luffy for his last birthday. ‘Me’ was proclaimed over the shorter figure, dark hair and brown eyes identifying it as Luffy. The other figure was taller, with the same dark hair but different eyes. Above this was scribbled ‘Onii-san’ in the plain, unwittingly blunt writing of naïveté. Ace felt tears biting at his eyes but forced them back. The marine was studying him closely, but hadn’t looked at the picture, seemingly waiting for Ace’s permission. Ace swallowed thickly.

“I…I have a family too, you know.” Ace drew in a shaky breath. The marine continued to watch him in silence, waiting for Ace to continue, seeming to sense Ace’s need for companionship. “A little brother.” Ace blinked back his tears. “The best person you could ever hope to know.” The marine continued to watch Ace in silence. Ace stared at the drawing he had taken from Luffy’s sketchbook for another moment. Desperate loneliness wracked through his frame, sobs trying hard to escape the steel wall Ace had locked his emotional side behind ever since being taken by the marines. Finally Ace swallowed back his tears, forcing them down. From his loneliness he drew determination. His eyes hardened, his shoulders set. “And by God I’m going to see him again. I don’t care what it takes. I will get out of here. I will survive this. That bastard Hare won’t break me. He won’t be able to. Memory is my lifeline and it will sustain me until I get out of here. And I’ll never let him near my little brother again.” Ace looked down at the drawing, freezing every detail into his mind. After he was sure he would remember every tiny feature, he flipped the paper over and pressed it into the trail of blood he had left when he brought himself over to the wall. The marine gasped in surprise.

“What are you doing?” Ace continued to hold Luffy’s drawing in the blood until it was completely saturated, the crayon no longer visible.

“Protecting that which always has been, always will be, most important to me.” Ace turned back to the marine, handing back Aaron’s drawing. He offered the man a small smile. “You have an amazing son. A real miracle. Cherish him.”

 

* * *

 

            Ace lay on the floor of his cell, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes were unfocused and he was in a kind of daze, the pain of the day’s beatings and tortures clouding his mind. Ace roused himself a little. Several days ago, Ace had been forced to swallow a hot coal and his voice was still almost nonexistent. His throat was healing, but he still could do little more than whisper hoarsely. Over the time that Ace had been here, everything had been taken away. Hare had torn it away. Now Ace couldn’t even scream. That primal defense mechanism programmed into every human being, to cry out for help, even that had been pulled out of his reach.

            Being that they were trapped inside and there were no windows or holes in the wall, Ace had no knowledge of the passage of time. His only method for measuring how long he had been here was by counting the number of visits Hare had made. He made a small mark on the wall each time Hare came to his cell, and by now he had nine. The marine who had shot Ace had also been visiting, usually at least once for every time that Hare visited. The marine would bring food for him and Sabo, and when he had time he would talk with them, trying to help them take their minds off the pain of their newest injuries. Ace assumed that Hare visited him once daily, and the other marine would visit them as often as possible, usually two times out of every three days. As time progressed, Hare’s tormenting had grown crueler and crueler. Today’s torture had been exacted with a scalpel and powdered salt. After making cuts of various lengths and depths, Hare had individually packed each with salt. The injuries to Ace’s throat had been reopened by his attempts at screaming, and by the end he had been spitting up blood instead of sound.

            But that wasn’t what hurt him the most.

            In the cell next to his, he could hear Sabo’s equally uneven breathing, the air hitching in his throat from suppressed sounds of pain. Over the time that Ace had been here, he and Sabo had become friends. Maybe it was their shared torment that brought them closer together, but at this point, Ace felt Sabo knew him better than almost anyone. That was why, after Hare left Ace’s cell, Ace knew his torment wasn’t over yet.

            Because it was Sabo’s screams that hurt him the most.

            Both Hare and the marine had already visited for the day, and while the passage of time wasn’t measurable down here, Ace knew instinctively that it would be a while before either returned.

            “What’s your home like?” Sabo’s quiet voice brought Ace out of his daze.

            “What?”

            “Your home. The island you come from. What’s it like?” Sabo’s voice was weak, full of a sadness Ace didn’t understand.

            “I come from a small island in East Blue. Fuushia Village.” Ace furrowed his brows, feeling concern for the other boy.

            “Describe it to me.” Sabo’s voice was hollow, wrung-out.

            “Sabo?” Ace felt real worry growing inside his chest.

            “Please?” His voice sounded different, tight and thin. Ace blinked in surprise. _He’s crying._ Ace turned his head towards the wall that separated them. He swallowed.

            “Okay.” Ace took a deep breath, sifting through the memories of his home, trying to remember every detail. “The island I come from is really rather small. There’s only one village on it, and it doesn’t have more than 80 people. The east coast of the island is beaches and the village is situated near the water on that side.” Ace’s eyes drifted closed, the memories swelling and flowing around him.

            “The sand is white and warm, and in the summer when the sun shines on the water, the whole ocean looks like a sapphire. The sky is blue topaz, and there are no clouds, as if they’re afraid to make the scene less beautiful. The coast slopes up to the village, which is about a quarter of a mile away from the beach. The houses are simple, but each has its own identifying feature. The people smile as you walk by, and every house’s door is open, everyone is your family, everywhere is home. The fishermen laugh loudly, complaining about the weight of their catch but the smile never really leaves their eyes.

If you continue west from the village, there’s a trail that leads from the village and up the mountain. The trail weaves through a forest lazily, not in any hurry to get you up the mountain. The breezes sigh through the trees in summer, the light dapples the floor with flecks of white-yellow brilliance. Birds sing. It rains here sometimes, in the late afternoons or early mornings. And afterwards everything gets this feeling of renewal, like the entire island was just remade. It smells like life and water and light, and the mist will occasionally get caught under the trees in the fall. And the _leaves_ …the leaves during autumn take on all different shades of amber and yellow and red, and for about 2 weeks of every year the whole island looks as if it’s on fire. In winter all the leaves are gone, but sometimes after a snowstorm the trees will have snow on all their branches and it looks like they’re all wrapped in lace, and suddenly it doesn’t matter that the leaves are gone or that it’s freezing because it’s just so beautiful.

As you continue up the trail, you’ll eventually come out onto a small meadow. This is where my house is. It’s not big or ornate or really that impressive, but it’s warm and sturdy and home. There’s a small garden out back where I grow vegetables and herbs, and during the spring the whole meadow is filled with wildflowers. During that time the whole place smells like spring, each flower bringing its own scent. There’s lavender and harebell and western wood lily, and it looks like drops of paint just fell from heaven and colored the place. Butterflies roam haphazardly over the whole area, and they only add more color, looking like delicate paper secrets, sashaying around in hues of ruby and tanzanite. On winter nights the whole area is covered in frost or snow, and the air nips your lungs as you inhale. The stars, though, shine brighter than the moon, and each stands out in glacial clarity. Orion stands watch over the world, Canis Major patrolling diligently by his side. The whole winter is shaded in blues and whites, and the icicles on the trees hang like delicate wind chimes, daring gravity to bring them down. And it’s quiet. So very, very quiet. The whole world sleeps, shrouded in snow. Yet there is a tension in the air, the life force of the world just waiting for its cue to burst back into shades of green and yellow and brown, the harsh majesty and elegance of Skaði giving way to the warmth and jubilance of spring.

If you head northwest from here, you’ll reach one of my favorite places on the whole island. After passing through a grove of birch and juneberry trees, you come out onto another small meadow. This one, during the spring and summer, is filled with knee-high grasses. It’s on the western coast of the island, and it has a fantastic view of the sunsets. This side of the island, though, doesn’t slope down to gentle beaches. This side is made up of cliffs. The stone juts almost perpendicular to the water, and the cliffs reach up about 150 feet. The stone is darker on this side of the island, and the soil is rockier. The grasses there are sturdy and dependable, able to withstand the thunderstorms that occasionally assault this side of the island. Sometimes during the summer, me and Luffy’ll sleep outside here. The air is fresh, smelling like mountains and sea spray, and the stars blink sleepily from their positions in the sky. What’re amazing though are the fireflies. It’s the only place on the entire island where they live, and at night it looks like the stars have come down from the sky and are waltzing lazily around the field. My favorite part about that whole place, though, is the sound. The waves. They beat lazily, rhythmically crashing and sighing against the stone. The gentle murmur they make when the sea is calm, the thundering boom as they slam against the cliffs during a storm, it’s…indescribable. It sounds like...it sounds like…” Ace trailed off, opening his eyes slowly, the images of his home fading.

“It sounds like freedom.” Ace’s head snapped to the side, facing towards where he knew Sabo was. He blinked several times in surprise, mouth hanging slightly open. _He knows. He understands._ He closed his mouth and his eyes softened.

“Yeah. It does.” He heard Sabo shift in the cell next to his.

“Thank you.” Sabo’s voice still held that deep sadness that Ace couldn’t name, but it seemed lessened. “Thank you.” Sabo’s shoulders shook gently, tears still falling from his eyes. “I…I can’t remember my home anymore. I can’t remember anything about it. I can’t remember my mother’s face, what it feels like to be embraced by someone who loves you, the warmth of sitting by a fireplace reading, it’s all gone. I have no home anymore. You’ve shared something precious with me. Thank you.”

And Ace understood, now, what Sabo’s grief was for. Not only had his family been ripped away from him, probably killed already on the whim of the government, not only had he been abducted from his home and tortured for no good reason, but now he was losing his last link to the life he had known before, the better life, the happier one where men weren’t monsters and where your entire world wasn’t framed by the bars of a cage. As Ace understood this, he also came to understand that he didn’t want Sabo to feel like this, to have no hope left and feel completely alone in a world that was much colder and much more painful than either of them had thought possible. He didn’t want to hear that despair and that grief in his voice, he didn’t want to hear Sabo scream again, he didn’t want to see Hare leave his cell and feel that crushing fear that this would be the last time he ever heard Saob’s voice, an agonized wail that ended in a gurgle or just tapered off into silence, and nothing ever after it. He understood what it meant, and a small smile came to his face.

“But you do have a home.” He could hear Sabo’s suppressed sobs coming from the other side of the wall.

“I don’t. Not anymore. It’s been taken from me along with everything else that ever meant anything.”

Ace shook his head. “That’s not true. You still have a home left, you still have a family.” He pushed himself into a sitting position.

“No I don’t. I watched my father’s head roll and my mother’s right after his. Our house was burned to the ground and there’s nothing left, and no one remaining to even care.”

“I care. And you do have a family. And a home.” The smile on Ace’s face widened, even as he sensed Sabo was about to protest again. “Mine.”

“W-What?”

“You may have to wait a little longer, but we’ll be going home soon. Luffy’s going to love you, I can just tell.”

“Ace, what’re you-“

 “What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t share my home with my own brother?” A moment of silence passed.

“B-Brother?” Sabo’s voice was shaking.

“That’s right. And as soon as we get out of here, you’ll get to meet the third member of our little family. It may be a bit less…organized than your last family, but it has its upsides. And I’m sure Makino and Shanks are going to love you too.”

“Ace…”

“We don’t have a third bedroom, but that’s fixable. And I sure could use your help taking care of Luffy. The last time he got sick I was up for three days straight.” Sabo felt something growing in his chest, something warm and bright and real, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. The feeling of actually being wanted. The possibility of a future. _Home. A little brother. An island full of people who know my name and smile at me_ A smile danced onto his face.

“I can’t wait to go home.”


	21. Chapter 21

“You know, I never asked your name.”

“Hmm?” The marine was sitting outside the bars collecting the empty dishes he had brought Ace and Sabo’s food in that evening. Ace was leaning against a wall, legs stretched out in front of him, trying to force back the pain of the day’s injuries.

“Your name. You’ve done so much for us, and I still don’t even know your name.” The marine smiled softly, eyes still focused on the dishes.

“My name’s Gabriel. Gabriel Gowdel.” The marine finished gathering the dishes and turned to face Ace and Sabo fully. Ace chuckled softly and the marine looked at him in confusion. “What? What is it?” Ace shook his head, smile still on his face, laugh fading as his newly broken ribs flared painfully.

“Your name. It’s perfect.”

“What are you talking about?” Ace shook his head once more, smile still present on his face.

“Nothing. Anyways, thank you for taking such good care of us all this time. I’m curious, though. Why do you do it? If Hare finds out, you’re probably going to be killed, and your son is waiting for you.” Gabriel smiled softly, his eyes growing distant.

“It’s just a philosophy of mine. I believe that the best lessons of all are taught by example. Words are just air, but actions affect the world. My son may not be here to see me do this, but I want him to grow up to be the kind of person that would recognize injustice and do what he could to help. I want to be the kind of man my son would look up to.” Gabriel chuckled softly to himself. “It may sound a little foolish, but it’s always been a dream of mine to have Aaron walk up to me one day and say, “daddy, when I grow up, I want to be just like you.” So that’s why. I want to be the kind of person that my son could aspire to be, the kind of person I want him to aspire to be.” He looked down. “I know it sounds silly, but that’s all I’ve really wanted, ever since the day he was born.” Ace looked at him, eyes warm.

“It’s not. It’s not silly, or foolish, or pointless. It’s beautiful.” Ace’s voice was quiet and he looked at his hands. “I’ve…I’ve always wanted someone to say that to me. To be someone worthwhile, someone who inspires other people. Because that would mean it was worth it. _Being born_ was worth it, because no matter how small or insignificant the person may be, I made one human being resolve to change. I made the world a little bit brighter. I proved myself to be more than just a bad legacy, I proved to another person that I, too, deserved the title of human.” Ace gave a quiet shrug. “That’s…That’s always been my goal. To prove to another, to prove to humanity, to prove to the _world_ that I deserve to be part of it. Humanity ebbs and flows like the tide. In 100 years it’s quite possible that no one will remember my name, but if someone still remembers it in three years, that’ll be enough. Enough for me, at any rate. Society is violent and prejudiced and self-destructive, but still, all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed to know was if there was any possibility of there being a place for me in it.  If anyone…if anyone could ever accept me, even with my lineage. If I could ever know love or companionship, if I could ever have a family. If it’s even possible for anyone to look past what everyone thinks they know of me and see, see what I could be, what I _want_ to be if given the opportunity. People hear my father’s name and suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore, who I am doesn’t matter. I’m beaten, broken, and left to die and nobody looks at _me._ It doesn’t matter that I’d sooner die than let any harm come to my little brother, it doesn’t matter that the sound of the waves breaking on the cliffs is the only thing that’ll make me fall asleep some nights, it doesn’t matter that _I’m not my father._ Because I’m just a name. Just the one that the government missed, the one that they didn’t kill. This society is so broken that we have become jaded with murder. The government wipes out entire islands, entire cultures, entire races _daily_ , and _nobody cares_. So I’m glad. Glad that there are still people like you out there, the ones that know that to give is to teach, to live is to inspire and we’d better start inspiring the right things before we’re all truly lost.”

 

* * *

 

            “Rise and shine.” Ace dimly heard the words through his slumber, so deep it was bordering on unconsciousness. The night before his exhaustion and injuries had come to the point where he’d fallen asleep midsentence. It was becoming a regular occurrence, these bouts of oblivion. Hare would leave for the day, and later Gabriel would come. He’d bring food, and Ace would eat without tasting any of it. Afterwards he’d engage in conversation with Sabo and Gabriel, but more and more frequently he found his mind clouding over, falling into a daze of sleep and medical deprivation. Eventually he’d black out, neither dreaming nor stirring until Hare came the next day.

The words themselves weren’t enough to rouse Ace, but the brutal kick to his solar plexus did. All air was driven from Ace’s lungs, and he dimly felt himself flying through the air. A moment later he came slamming into a wall and remained horizontal at its base, gasping for air. He vaguely heard Hare’s approaching footsteps, but was too preoccupied with remaining conscious to really notice. Hare stopped next to Ace and seized him by the throat, raising him off the ground and cutting off his air supply. Ace’s eyes widened and he struggled, writhing desperately as darkness began to close in from the edges of his vision.

Just as Ace was sure he would either pass out or die, Hare released him. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, legs screaming their protest at being beneath Ace’s bodyweight. Not that Ace weighed very much anymore, but it was still enough to bring fresh agony to his broken limbs. Once more Hare grabbed him, this time by a fistful of his hair. Ace automatically reached up, grabbing Hare’s arm, trying to lessen the painful tension on his scalp. Hare threw him forwards by his hair, and Ace came to rest on the floor near the middle of his cell, face down.

Ace lay there on the floor, trying to regulate his breathing. He heard Hare beginning to approach and instantly he began trying to move away, using his hands to drag himself across the floor, lifting his torso off the wood.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” A foot planted itself between Ace’s shoulder blades, forcing him back down, arms buckling beneath the pressure Hare placed on Ace’s spine. Hare crouched down beside Ace, using a hand to keep him down instead of his foot. Ace turned his head so that he could see Hare out of the side of his eye.

Hare had drawn a scalpel and as soon as Ace’s eyes landed on it, he began to struggle, writhing against the hand that pinned him down. Hare scowled in annoyance and increased the pressure on Ace’s spine. Ace gave a small cry of pain as the broken and fractured ribs he had acquired over the time he had spent here flashed bright spots of pain across his vision. Again Hare raised the scalpel and Ace focused frightened eyes on it. Again he struggled, but it was much weaker this time. Again Hare pressed down on Ace’s back and again Ace’s struggling ceased with a cry of pain.

“It’ll hurt less if you don’t struggle, you know.” Hare brought the scalpel closer to Ace and Ace could only watch in horror, breathing ragged and uneven. The scalpel hovered over Ace’s body, as if undecided. “Now, where shall we start today?” The scalpel moved slowly, lazily, coming to a stop just above Ace’s eye. Ace’s eye was focused on the knife, and his heart constricted in fear. “Here? No, I don’t think so. They’re such a nice color, it’d be a shame to have them go to waste.” Again the knife floated above Ace’s prone form, searching for the right spot to begin. “Hmm. You make this into such a hard choice, Ace.” Hare began flipping the knife from one finger to the other. Ace forced his eyes away from the knife and instead focused on Hare’s face.

“You’re a _monster.”_ The knife stopped flipping. Hare suddenly spun the scalpel so it stuck out of the bottom of his fist and slammed it into Ace’s shoulder. Ace screamed as this new wave of pain washed over him, eyes squeezed shut tightly. Hare brought his face down close to Ace’s.

“Yes, that’s _exactly_ what I am.” Hare half-whispered the words into Ace’s ear, Ace’s eyes still tightly shut from the pain. “And it’s time to teach you the meaning of fear.”

Hare moved over Ace, sitting on his back and using one hand to hold both of Ace’s hands above his head. With the other hand he drew out the scalpel, dripping crimson life onto the wood. Hare twirled the scalpel, now holding it almost like a pencil. Once more he stuck the blade into Ace’s shoulder, making a deep cut in the flesh over Ace’s right shoulder blade. Ace bit back another scream as Hare dragged the blade through his skin and muscle inch by agonizing inch.

Each cut brought its own fresh pain to Ace’s mind, and Hare certainly took his time making each. It was probably the 4th cut when Ace finally couldn’t hold back his screams any longer. Each cut was made with agonizingly clear precision and patience, the knife moving maybe an inch in every five seconds. Ace didn’t know how long this torment lasted, only that by the end he was so hoarse he was certain his throat would begin bleeding again if he screamed any more. Hare finally withdrew the knife and Ace lay on the floor beneath him, breathing in uneven and ragged gasps and labored breaths. Hare continued to hold Ace down, studying him closely. A cruel smile played onto his features as Ace trembled beneath him from pain and blood loss.

“You know, I think you’re losing a little too much blood.” Ace glared up at Hare, momentarily forcing away his fear and replacing it with his hate.

“And let’s think whose fucking fault that might be.” Hare chuckled at Ace. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial full of a brownish liquid. He brought it down closer to Ace’s face so he could see it better. As soon as Ace got a good look at it, his eyes widened and he shrunk back.

“We’re going to have to stop the bleeding, Ace. Have you heard of a process called ‘cauterization’?” Ace’s eyes remained fixed on the bottle, his fear evident. Hare continued to smile. “You know what’s in this bottle, don’t you Ace?” Ace swallowed thickly.

“That’s sulfuric acid.” Hare nodded.

“Very good. Normally one uses red-hot metal to cauterize a wound, but I didn’t have the time to get something that hot. This acid will work just as well, though. It’ll help ensure this mark never goes away, too. So tell me Ace,” Hare uncorked the vial, allowing a drop to fall and hiss on the wood next to Ace’s face. “Are you afraid yet?”

And then the agony began. The pain was blinding and all encompassing and there was no escape. Ace’s shoulder felt as if it was both on fire and freezing and being torn apart piece by tiny piece.

This time Ace didn’t bother trying to hold in his screams, he wouldn’t have been able to anyway. Each moment felt like a year and each minute an eternity. The acid moved with the same precision the knife had, only dripping onto the cuts in Ace’s shoulder. Each nerve ending, already protesting the previous harm done to them, screamed in complete torment as they died, skin and muscle melting like butter beneath the hissing chemical. Ace could smell the damage it was doing, the scent of the corroding and dying cells filling the air.

And then, finally, after what felt like lifetimes to Ace, it stopped.

Ace lay on the floor, panting and shuddering as Hare rose. Summoning what was left of his flagging strength, Ace glared hatefully up at the marine. Hare paused and considered Ace for a moment, looking thoughtful. Ace’s eyes contained fear to be sure, the crushing dread of knowing exactly what Hare was capable and willing to do to him, but instead of crumpling beneath it like others had, he stood his ground. There was still something left of what had existed before. It wasn’t the anger or hate, those were to be expected, though admittedly they had never lasted this long in past subjects. _No…it’s something else. There’s something that’s keeping him from crumbling._ There was still a spark in Ace’s eyes. A spark Hare had to destroy. Hare blinked in surprise, eyes widening a little.

“Hope.” That was it. That was why Ace hadn’t fallen yet. Hare kneeled down next to Ace, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, smiling as Ace gave a small cry of pain. “You still think you have a way out, don’t you? You still think you can make it through.” Hare dropped Ace’s head, letting it fall back to the wooden floor. “It seems physical pain won’t be enough for you. Very well, let’s change tactics.” Hare turned, rising, and walked towards the door of the cell. He stopped at the door, looking at something on the floor. Stooping, he lifted a metal fork. He studied it closely.

“Hmm. It would seem there’s a traitor in our mix.” Hare’s voice was cold, devoid of all emotion, and Ace knew that Hare had already known about Gabriel feeding him and Sabo. Hare turned, smiling at Ace. “If you’re so sure you’ll make it out, maybe you can explain to Aaron where his daddy went.” Ace’s eyes locked onto Hare’s.

“No, don’t. He’s got _nothing to do with this!”_ Hare just continued smiling. He stuck his head out the cell door, looking down the hallway towards the stairs.

“Bring him in.” The sound of footsteps and struggling met Ace’ ears and he felt fear rising inside of him. _Oh God, no. Don’t let this be happening, not because of me._ The sounds of footsteps were getting closer and closer and finally Gabriel came into sight, held between two marines. They dragged him forwards so he was directly in front of Ace outside the bars. Ace locked eyes with him. The marines on either side of him forced him into a kneeling position and Ace focused his attention on Hare.

“Let him go. Please. He’s done nothing wrong. It’s my fault, I blackmailed him into it. Just let him go.” Hare pulled a pistol from his belt. Ace felt true desperation and terror rising inside of his chest. “ _Don’t!”_

Hare continued to look into Ace’s eyes, not even glancing at Gabriel. He leveled the gun so it was pointing at Gabriel’s midsection. Ace met Hare’s eyes, desperate, pleading, and terrified. Ace began dragging himself forwards, towards the group, ignoring his body’s screaming at him to just shut up and sit still, that it couldn’t take any more pain. Hare’s smile widened.

And the gun went off.

Ace froze the instant the sound hit his ears. Hot blood hit his face and Ace stared in horror as Gabriel collapsed. The bullet had torn through his stomach and he was bleeding, the red, _horrible, horrible_ red spreading onto the floor.  Gabriel came to a rest lying on his side. Ace stared at him in shock, disbelieving. Hare kneeled down next to Gabriel, reaching into his breast pocket. He pulled out a sheet of paper, the thick, durable kind used for drawing. He unfolded the sheet and studied the childish sketch, cold smile coming back to his face. He turned the drawing so that it was facing Ace, and Ace saw again the two lumpy figures, the bright, innocent colors, and the proudly proclaimed words of “me” and “daddy” shouted out above each of the people. Ace looked between Hare’s face and the drawing.

And then Hare raised a lighter.

Ace surged forwards against the bars, reaching up, trying to stop what he knew to be inevitable.

The figure labeled “Daddy” was the first to burn.

“You _MONSTER!”_ Ace screamed the words, trying to press all his hate for Hare into that one word. “You’ve already taken _everything_ from him, _how could you?!”_ Hare smiled at Ace and crouched down so they were eye to eye.

“Because, Ace, you can always leave someone with less than nothing.” And with that he turned and left, the other two marines leaving with him. Ace’s anger left him and he turned to Gabriel, grief and loss filling him. Ace blinked in surprise. Gabriel was still breathing.

Gabriel had lost so much blood by now, Ace was sure it was too late to save him. Already Gabriel’s eyes were unfocused, beginning to cloud over. He reached a hand through the bars, breathing uneven and raspy.

“Aaron…?” His voice was soft. Ace realized that he wasn’t seeing reality anymore. Ace felt tears welling up inside of him. He reached out gently and took Gabriel’s hand. _This is my fault…I should be the one bleeding, the one dying, not you. I…I’m sorry. I can never, never make this up to you, but I’m going to try._ Ace painted a small smile on his face, forcing back his tears.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m here. Right here.” Gabriel smiled gently.

“Why aren’t you out playing with your mother? She’s waiting for you outside…” Ace could see the light fading from Gabriel’s eyes. Ace’s tears were pressing against his eyes, almost spilling over. But he kept the smile on his face.

“No. I’ll go play in a minute. I…I wanted to talk to you.”

“What is it?”

“I…I just…I just wanted to tell you how proud I am. Proud to have a strong, loyal, amazing daddy like you. I hope that someday, when I’m a grown-up, I can be just like you.” Gabriel’s hand tightened around Ace’s, and Ace realized he was crying, still smiling, but tears spilling down his face. _Oh God, what have I done now? Did I make it worse?_ “Why is daddy crying?” Gabriel shook his head, squeezing Ace’s hand.

“Daddy’s not crying. I’m just so, so happy. Thank you, Aaron. Now go play with your mother, she’s calling you. Daddy’s…” the light in Gabriel’s eyes faded further. “Daddy’s feeling a little tired right now. You go off and play. Daddy’s going to take a little nap, and when I wake up I’ll teach you how to throw a ball. How does that sound?” His voice was little more than a whisper now. “Go…go run along…I’ll…I’ll see you…later.” His hand loosened. Ace choked back a sob.

“See…see you later.”

Ace reached through the bars and gently closed Gabriel’s cloudy eyes.

Ace choked on another sob but refused to let any tears fall. Guilt, grief, and loss swelled in his chest, and a gaping black abyss opened in his heart. His breathing was ragged and uneven, his head bowed, eyes shut tightly against any escaping tears. The pressure in his chest grew and grew, his grief and remorse soaring to ever higher peaks. He was going to explode, he was going to die, there was no way to survive this pain. Now there was another soul on Ace’s conscience, another person just _gone_ because of him. Gabriel had been innocent of any crime and now lay on the floor _dead,_ his body no more than a mound of already decomposing organs and bones because of _Ace._ He’d never see his son again; his dream would never be fulfilled. He’d never see Aaron’s 7 th birthday, he’d never teach him to throw a ball. He’d never watch him grow into a man. And all of it, absolutely _all of it_ was Ace’s fault.

Ace threw back his head and screamed.


	22. Chapter 22

Sabo stared at Gabriel’s body. He hadn’t been able to hear the quiet words Ace had shared with the man before he died, but he could see the peaceful expression on his face and knew Ace had found a way to make him happy, in his last moments. The cellblock was silent, Ace apparently wrapped in his own thoughts.

            And then Ace screamed.

            Sabo flinched at the sound. It was a primal noise, pure and unadulterated emotion. In it, Sabo heard Ace’s sorrow, Ace’s pain, Ace’s loneliness. But he also heard Ace’s guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. Sabo crawled over to the bars, making a futile attempt to get a look at Ace through the bars.

            “Ace! Ace, what’s wrong?” He heard the noises of Ace shifting around in the cell next to his. Ace was close to the bars, close to Sabo.

            “It’s…It’s my fault. He’s _dead_ and it’s _all my fault_.” Ace’s voice was uneven and broken, grief and remorse tearing him to pieces. Sabo felt his heat constrict, hearing that raw mass of pain in his brother’s voice. He wanted nothing more than to go into Ace’s cell and hold him, comfort him, anything to _make that pain go away._

            “Ace, no, it’s not your fault. He-“

            “But it _is_ my fault, Sabo! If he hadn’t shot me he wouldn’t have felt bad and wanted to make it up to me! It’s my damn fault that he’s never going to see his little boy again! It’s my fault that a 6-year-old boy has to grow up without a father! It’s _all. My. Damn. Fault!”_ There was so much self-loathing in Ace’s voice, so much hatred for his existence.

            “No, Ace! Damn it, shut up!” Sabo’s voice went hard. He wasn’t really angry, but he had to get through to Ace. His tone surprised Ace into silence, and Sabo resumed speaking, voice soft. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s Hare’s fault. Hare’s the one that pulled the trigger, Hare’s the one that wouldn’t feed us so that Gabriel had to, Hare’s the one that put you here in the first place. You made Gabriel happy. Took away any fear he might have felt in his last moments. That’s a great gift, Ace. The greatest you could have ever given him. He’d be grateful, if he were here.”

            Silence fell over the pair for a moment.

            “…How do you do it, Sabo? How do you possibly stay _sane_ in this hell? When you’ve lost everything, when there is _nothing left to hold dear,_ how do you keep from collapsing?” Ace’s voice was quiet, the hatred and anger gone. Now there was just hollowness, fragility.

            “Everyone finds their own way.” Sabo’s voice was equally quiet. “As for me…well…” A slight blush crept to his cheeks. It was ridiculous, he knew, being embarrassed in a place like this, but he did feel a touch of self-consciousness. “…I write poetry.”

            “Really?” There was interest in Ace’s voice, and Sabo could hear Ace moving around in his cell, coming to lean against the wall that separated them.

            “Yeah. I know it may sound kind of…weak or effeminate, but-“

            “No. Why should a beautiful manipulation of our language be considered girly?” There was a pause, an intake of breath. Sabo glanced out the bars and saw blood spreading slowly on the floor. It wasn’t Gabriel’s.

            “Ace? Ace, what’s going on? You’re losing way too much blood! Why are you bleeding?” Sabo, upon seeing the blood, had instantly gone on high alert, concern and worry thrilling through him.

            “It’s…It’s nothing, Sabo. The bullet wound just opened again. I’m…fine.” His voice was quiet and breathy, and Sabo felt desperation setting in. Over the time here, Ace had lost way more blood than was healthy and that his body could replace given the amount of food they got each day. No doubt Hare had made him bleed today, and while he was always careful not to make either of them bleed to the point of death, the damage he did today plus this new blood loss was dangerous. Really, really dangerous. “…I’m tired, Sabo.”

            “No, Ace! Don’t go to sleep! I need you to stay awake, okay?” If Ace fell asleep, chances were good that he wouldn’t wake up again. And Sabo couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lose someone else. He had been able to hide behind pretty words and careful phrases through the loss of his family, his home, his world, but it wouldn’t be enough, not if he lost Ace. You don’t know despair until you know hope, and Ace had given him that hope. Promising him a little brother, a new home, a new _life_. Sabo couldn’t live without it, now that he had had a taste. “Ace, you have to stay awake, seriously! _Stay awake!_ ” Sabo’s desperation was overriding everything else.

            “…It’s very, very dark in here, Sabo… Why is it so dark…?”

            “Ace, stay awake! Please, Ace!” Sabo felt tears beginning to roll down his face, a choked sob escaping his chest. “Please…”

            “Sabo? Why are you…crying?” Ace sounded more aware, after hearing Sabo’s sob. He sounded worried.

“If you…If you sleep, Ace, you probably won’t wake up. And I can’t do it! I can’t go back to being alone! You’re my family, you and Luffy, and your home is mine, remember? That’s what you said! But…But it won’t _be_ a home unless _all_ of us are in it. So don’t…don’t leave me. Please.”

“…Okay.” Again, Sabo could hear Ace shifting in his cell. “Do you…Could you help me stay awake?”

“How?” Anything. He’d do anything. Anything to keep Ace here.

“…Read me your poems.” Sabo blinked in surprise. He’d never actually shared his poetry with anyone. His parents had been disinterested in his existence and hadn’t wasted their oh so precious time to hear their son’s work, and he’d never had any _real_ friends. Nobody had ever cared enough to see the world through the lens of Sabo’s perspective. But now someone did, someone cared. Someone who would actually understand what he was saying. Just as he had understood what Ace meant by the sound of the waves, he knew that Ace would understand what he saw in the world.

“…Okay.” Sabo crawled to the back of his cell, back to the mound of fabric that was his coat. He rummaged in it until he found the breast pocket and from it he drew a small, faded, brown leather notebook. He crawled back towards the bars, leaning against the wall opposite Ace. He swallowed, flipping back the front cover and title page, going to the first poem he had recorded there. He’d had this notebook for years now, writing in it late at night after days, weeks, months, years of being pushed aside, belittled, and ignored. And there they were. Words shining in faded and lightly smudged black ink. His friends, his companions on those lonely, candle-glow nights. He took a deep breath.

“Shape and Form

And so the moon returning is like geese and a paper lily.

Through papyrus I have seen your silhouette.

In my mind you stand couched in the channel of my sorrow and

I do not dream of you anymore.

 

You tell me a duck’s quack doesn’t echo and

that elephants don’t know how to swim and I think

you must be unaware a dragonfly really is a monster,

all we have left.

 

The summer goes, pear blossoms on the water

tell me their secrets and I dapple them, shade with glowing words

the promise of a place below the muck

where loons are loose-silt angels and so

 

the moon that wanes is more like darkening hills.

My love-poem is steam above the kettle and a flock of carved umber

letters I could never form as well as you.

Migrating. The way geese sing.

 

I wonder how it is up where I could not breathe.

To fly in the delicate sipping-bowl of twilight.

I wanted a world where adventure was more than loving you where

solitude tasted like tangerine.

 

And a moon gone is my memory of you

that wavers in swan-disturbed reflection a thousand

universes—broken china teacups on the floor.

I cut my hands, bead blood at the edge of the floorboard river,

bend to supplicate that lanterns could take the shape of wings

and show me in illuminated sandalwood

the way to you.”

            The final words hung in the air, glowing, shining, iridescent as they were on the night they were written.

            “…It’s beautiful.” Ace’s words held complete awe and Sabo felt special, Sabo felt important, Sabo felt truly _seen_ for the first time in his life. There was a slight pause, as if Ace were lost in the words. Then he spoke again. “Could you read me another one?” He sounded uncertain, as if he were asking a great favor of someone high above him. Sabo felt tears of joy prick at his eyes for the recognition and the appreciation in that request, in that voice. His heart was full to bursting.

            “Yeah. Yeah I can.” All this time, no one had wanted to see him, no one had cared to look at him and now Ace was here, wanting to know more of him, wanting to see more of Sabo’s world, more of the strange beauty that Sabo sketched in simile and sleepless nights. Sabo turned to the next page.

 

* * *

 

            They stayed up all night. Sabo wouldn’t risk Ace sleeping, and so he read him poetry hour after hour. After every poem, he would have a brief conversation with Ace to keep him engaged and make sure he was still awake. Finally the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs floated the two of them out of a quiet conversation about one metaphor Sabo had used in a poem and both looked up to see Hare coming down the stairs. His face was calm, devoid of all emotion, as usual. He stopped at Gabriel’s body and nudged it with a booted toe. Sabo felt outrage rise in him. Hare bent down and checked for a pulse on Gabriel, and finding none motioned to several men in the hallway. They came and picked up the body, dragging it away on the floor.

            “You bastards, you’ve already taken his life, leave him is dignity at least!” Hare turned to Ace sharply at that, looking at him coldly.

            “Does a sack of dead cells deserve the title of human? And who said humans had dignity in the first place?” Hare moved to enter Ace’s cage and Ace dragged himself back, away from him. Sabo pressed forwards, pushing his head against the bars.

            “No, wait, stop! You can’t! He’s lost too much blood! Any more will kill him!” Hare stopped and turned to look at Sabo. Sabo looked back up at him, eyes wide, fearful, and desperate. Hare looked back to Ace and took in the blood caked to his chest and arm from his shoulder’s bleeding last night and the fairly expansive bloodstain on the floor. Annoyance crossed his face. He sighed, turning as if to walk away, but stopped. He turned again, once more facing Ace’s cell. There was a small smile on his face. He looked at Sabo.

            “If the blood loss is really bothering you that much, would you like me to make it stop? I could cauterize this too.”  Sabo’s eyes widened. Hare began walking towards Ace’s cell’s door once again, and Sabo reached out desperately, trying to get him to stop.

            “No, don’t! Stop!” He managed to grab the edge of Hare’s coat and Hare came to a stop, turning to look at Sabo.

            “What’s this? Friendship?” He looked between Sabo and Ace. He crouched down and grabbed a fistful of Sabo’s hair through the bars, pulling on it painfully. Sabo winced but continued to meet Hare’s eyes. Hare was looking into his face, studying him closely. “Now that’s interesting. That’s very interesting. You haven’t looked me in the eye in a week. So, what changed?” Sabo swallowed and didn’t respond. Hare glanced back at Ace’s widened eyes, then back to Sabo. A smile found its way to his face once more. “…Would you like to make a deal, then? Take his place for today. If you agree, I won’t lay a finger on him until tomorrow.” Sabo stared into Hare’s cold eyes. He swallowed.

            “Done.“

            “No, Sabo, don’t you dare do this! I’m fine! Please, Sabo! I don’t want this!” Ace’s voice was full of anguish. Sabo knew what he was doing would hurt Ace, but he couldn’t bear to watch Ace die.

            “Do it. I’ll take his place for today.” Hare released Sabo’s head and Sabo just caught himself before his head collided with the floor. He heard Hare opening the door to his cell and felt his usual fear uncoiling itself from the pit of his stomach. He took a deep breath and turned to face Hare. Hare crouched down in front of Sabo, grabbing him by the throat and pushing him against the wall. Sabo struggled to breathe, trying to loosen Hare’s grip with his own hands. Hare brought his face closer to Sabo’s and Sabo froze.

            “You know you won’t survive this. It’s not like you have very much blood left in you either.” Sabo swallowed and nodded.

            “I know.” Hare smiled and punched Sabo hard across the face. He released his neck at the same time and Sabo’s head collided with the floor, hard. He automatically let out a small cry of pain, hovering on the very border of unconsciousness. Hare grabbed a fistful of Sabo’s hair and began dragging him across the floor, Sabo too busy pushing away the darkness clouding his vision to fight back.

            When Sabo came back to his senses, both his wrists were shackled to the wall behind him and he was in a sitting position. Hare was in front of him, standing with his back to Sabo. For a moment, Sabo thought that maybe he had made it through and he had managed to survive the day, but then Hare turned back around and Sabo’s dread returned.

            Hare was holding a scalpel.

            Sabo pressed back against the wall as Hare drew closer, his breathing growing fast, bordering on hyperventilation. His terror was tightened like a vice around his heart and when Hare crouched in front of him again, Sabo shut his eyes.

            “Open your eyes.” Sabo automatically obeyed Hare’s command, instinctively trying to appease the danger before him. He watched as Hare slowly raised the knife, Sabo’s head shying away from the object impulsively. Hare scowled and grabbed Sabo’s hair again, holding him still.

            The knife punctured his skin on his jaw, just below his ear. Sabo gasped in surprise and pain as the knife began tracing the underside of his jawbone, moving unhurriedly through his flesh. Eventually the knife reached the end of his jaw just below his other ear, but it didn’t stop there. Blood leaked down Sabo’s neck from the fine cut on the underside of his chin as the knife continued up, past his ear, just below his hairline, tracing the outline of his face until it reconnected with the beginning of the cut.

            The knife paused and Sabo took the moment of respite to gather his strength. Hare then angled the knife and Sabo gasped in pain. Now the knife was parallel to Sabo’s skin, but underneath it. The process began again, Hare tracing the same cut but this time the knife was under Sabo’s skin, pulling it away. Sabo couldn’t hold back his screams this time. After what felt an eternity, the knife had finished its circuit. Again there was a moments respite and for a moment, Sabo’s screams stopped. Hot blood was flowing down his neck and chest and he could hear Ace calling his name, desperation and panic filling his voice.

            The blade of the scalpel was small, no more than an inch and a half long, so Hare would have to repeat the process several times before he was completely finished. A minor annoyance, really, but Ace seemed to be responding well. Hare grinned to himself, hearing the terror and pain in Ace’s voice. _I’ve almost got him. He’ll break shortly._ Hare lowered the knife once more, digging it deeper under Sabo’s skin. Sabo screamed again beneath him, but Hare also heard Ace’s screaming renew, calling for Sabo to hold on, to stay with him. Sabo’s blood was everywhere, staining Hare’s hands, staining the floor, clotting Hare’s once white uniform with red. Again and again the knife dug further and further under Sabo’s skin, and Sabo’s screams only intensified as time went on. Sabo began to feel himself slipping, the darkness floating at the edges of his vision no longer actual shadows. He swallowed thickly. _So this is how I’m going to die._

Sabo knew this was it. The darkness was closing at his vision, shadows claiming the boy who wrote poetry on candle-glow nights. The pain was growing distant, his screams echoing off the walls growing vague and unimportant. One more then?Words formed themselves sluggishly in his brain, glowing gently and pushing the darkness back. _The final opus._ And the title? The words, his friends, his companions, asked in hushed, excited tones. _…I don’t know. You name it._ Our final masterpiece deserves something obscure, don’t you think? Something as bizarre and irrelevant as this world? _…Yes. But it’s about me, too. So. To you, what am I?_ The words laughed and twirled.  Oh but don’t you know? They smiled and leapt across his mind, a ballerina in wax and lace. She came to a stop just behind Sabo’s eyes, smiling playfully. You’re a crab. Just a little crab on the beach, swept and tossed by the tide. To the world you are disposable and unimportant and just like all the other little crabs. But sometimes one crab is allowed to meet another. Sometimes you find another little crab and together you become two little crabs instead of just one. Tell me, little crab, did you ever become two little crabs? _…Yes. I did._ Dark hair, hazel-grey eyes, somewhat childish freckles. _Two little crabs. Two little crabs thrown against the rocks. That’s what we were._

_ I learn the art of counting backwards. _

_ Toes splayed: one, three, four.  _

__

_ I wish I could hear my own voice press _

_ the delicate cockle-shell of my ear up  _

_ to the worn cave where my heart forgets to sing. _

__

_ Hopscotch time, move to step on cracks and feel _

_ my mother’s spine _

_ just underfoot.  _

__

_ Sadness is _

_ a delicate  crab-shell that gusts along the dirtied coin _

_ of seashore.  _

_ The husk of bitter things  _

_ I pick and wonder at: _

_ The way claws move the _

_ baubles of eye-dark I _

__

_ am reflected there.  _

_ Without my ears, my skin— _

_ dull clown it makes of me, that shell!_

__

_ Dull clown… _

 

 

 _I’ll never get to meet Luffy. I’ll never get to see our home. I’ll never smell the cacophony of spring wildflowers or taste the cold, starlit winter as Orion patrols, standing sentinel over the cosmos. I’ll never see the island afire in shades of autumn and frost, and the mist will never flow at my feet after the rains._ Tears pricked at Sabo’s eyes, the bittersweet of a future lost biting him. _But, Ace. I can hear the waves. I hear them breaking on the cliffs._ Sabo’s eyes drifted closed, a grin coming to his face even as the salt of his tears burned him. _You’re right._ _Freedom is a beautiful sound._

Four

Three

One

Zero.

I learn the art of counting backwards.


	23. Chapter 23

Silence.

Terrible, terrible silence.

Ace sat, pressed against the bars of his cell, ears tuned for any sound, any tiny noise. Anything to tell him his brother was still breathing.

He heard none.

“…Sabo..?” Ace’s voice was hoarse, quiet and desperate, barely more than a whisper.

No reply.

The sound of movement, heavy footsteps, came from Sabo’s cell. But the sound was wrong, the footfalls too heavy, the noise of military boots…

Sabo’s cell door opened and Hare came striding out. He was smiling. In his right hand, the only hand Ace could see, he held a scalpel. But that wasn’t what terrified Ace.

Hare was covered in blood.

Ace scrambled back from the bars, recoiling in horror. His mind was racing. _Oh God, no._ His brain was in a state of denial. Sabo couldn’t be dead; he had been speaking to Ace just this morning. Sabo wasn’t dead; he hadn’t finished explaining the message of his latest poem to Ace. Sabo…Sabo _couldn’t_ be dead, he hadn’t come home and met Luffy and seen the island and heard the waves yet. Sabo couldn’t be dead, couldn’t be because he hadn’t been freed yet.

Ace found himself pressed against the back wall of his cell, Hare outside the bars smiling in at him cruelly. Hare opened the door and slowly strode inside, moving towards Ace. Ace remained pressed against the wall, his breath coming in short fast gasps. Sabo…Sabo couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. Ace’s brother was not dead because of him. Another member of his family wasn’t _gone_ because of him.  He felt a void forming in his chest, and a cold hollowness was embedded in his brain.

Hare continued getting closer and Ace stared up at him with wide eyes, looking completely lost. Hare’s smile widened.

“Don’t you have a hug for your brother?” Hare brought his left hand out from behind his back. In his hand he held Sabo’s face, peeled off without damaging the skin or features. Ace’s eyes moved sluggishly to the object, his mind completely blank. Hare moved closer still as Ace tried to get his mind to figure out what that skin-colored fabric Hare was holding was. _A mask…?_

Hare raised Sabo’s face so it was even with Ace’s own, completely visible for the first time. Ace’s eyes focused on it once more, his listless mind trying to catch up. Hare brought the face closer and closer. Now it was less than a foot away from Ace’s own face.

Ace’s mind started working again.

Ace’s eyes widened and his stomach revolted, making him gag. _Sabo’s face. That’s Sabo’s face._ Ace pressed further back into the wall, trying to tell himself to turn away, but his eyes refused to move, locked onto the horrible sight before him. Ace tried to press further back into the wall, away from Hare, his breathing further shallowing.

Hare brought the face closer still.

The coldness in Ace’s brain was growing larger and his breathing was so fast it could hardly be considered breathing at all. Ace let out a strangled whimper. Some of Sabo’s still-warm blood dripped onto Ace’s chest. The face was less than 6 inches away.

“It’s your fault.” The face was speaking now, seemingly reanimated. The empty place where eyes should be stared at Ace, filled with darkness. “It’s your fault.” The voice was hollow, monotone. There was no inflection, no humanity. Ace stared in utter horror, eyes wide. The face seemed to grow angry, pulling itself into a snarl. “Your fault. Your fault. _YOUR FAULT._ ” Ace continued to stare in horror at the mask, neither denying what it said nor running away. Blood dripped out of the face’s lips and onto Ace’s skin. Ace whimpered again. The face laughed, throwing back it’s chin and closing its eyes. More blood spattered out of the mouth, staining the rest of the face with specks of crimson.

It jerked itself back down, facing Ace once more. The eyes opened again, pits of darkness staring into Ace’s soul. A wide, inhuman grin was on its lips. “Do you wanna see my corpse?” Ace’s jaw was slack, his eyes wide, unable to speak. “You can’t. You can’t because it’s gone. It’s gone and it’s _YOUR FAULT._ There’s not even a body left. No corpse. No corpse. No corpse.” The voice had gone singsong, grin still in place. “I was thrown over the side. Garbage. Nothing more. Tied to a rock and dropped to the cold depths of the sea, the cold depths of _HELL_. Crustaceans are picking at my bones and I can feel worms crawling into my skull. Everything will be gone soon, no _speck_ of me left on this planet, everything I ever dreamed of, everything I ever was, gone. Everything.” The face seemed to inhale and the grin faded. “Except my eyes.”

The face was cold again, devoid of humanity. “Except. My. Eyes.” Each syllable was overly pronounced, enunciated. Ace couldn’t breathe. “Do you wanna know where my eyes are?” Ace continued to stare, desperate but unable to turn away. Ace forced himself to shut his eyes, not wanting to hear or see any more. “Look in my eyes, Ace. Look at me. My eyes. I know you want to know where they are. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.” Ace tried to block out the voice, tried not to hear. “Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.” The voice was getting inside his skull, crawling through his brain, and there was nowhere to hide. “Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.” Ace couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the voice swallowing its way inside his head. He opened his eyes.

 Ace’s mouth fell open in utter horror, eyes wide.

He was the face, he was the mask. In front of him, no more than a foot away, his own body sat, bloody, bruised, and torn. Except his face. Except his face. Ace’s face was smiling back at him under its mess of unkempt black hair. A massive, impossibly, painfully wide grin contorted his face, inhuman and unrecognizable. It wasn’t Ace that stared out of that face. Sabo’s eyes were wide, a ring of white showing all the way around the blue iris. There was nothing human in his eyes. Nothing sane, nothing relatable, only the primal animalistic and the madness. Ace only saw it for an instant, utter horror and terror and everything Ace never wanted to see again. The image seared itself into his brain and Ace tried but was unable to scream, had no air. He was drowning, the weight of the sea crushing down on his ribs, lungs full of water. Ace could feel a crab crawl down his throat and begin to pick at his stomach and intestines. He felt something moving inside his head and felt a worm crawl out of his eye. He felt other worms eating through his mind, laying their eggs in his memories, feeding their offspring in his emotions.  Sabo grinned back at him, the water crushed him, the worms swallowed his soul.

Ace’s vision went black, his unconscious body falling to the floor.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Ace knew when he woke up was that he could breathe again. There was no ocean in his lungs, no maggots in his brain, no crab eating him from the inside out. His eyes were his own once more. The second thing he knew was that the air smelled nice. Vanilla. Vanilla and sunlight. Ace knew the smell like he knew his reflection. It was just…natural. Perfectly, perfectly natural. Ace felt safe, when he smelled it.

            The third thing Ace knew was that he was laying on the floor, his head resting in someone’s lap.

            At this realization, Ace’s eyes opened. Before him, light blue fabric sloped gently off someone’s knee, fanning out on the floor like a piece of the horizon. The fabric was soft under his face, warmed by his body heat mingling with that of the person whose leg his head was on. _Why do I know this smell? Why is this texture familiar to me?_

_…Why am I not afraid?_

The person was running their fingertips gently through his hair in a gesture so gentle, so comforting, Ace couldn’t help but feel calm wash over him. He was warm. He was comfortable. He wasn’t alone. It was nothing short of an answered prayer. _I know this. I know all of this. Why? Why is this familiar to me?_

The person above him started humming. It was a gentle melody, light, sweet, and relaxing. A lullaby. Ace felt his heart constrict painfully. He swallowed hard and tears bit at his eyes. He knew. He knew who this was.

            “Mother.” The word came out quiet, barely more than a whisper. The sound was weak, fragile. The fingers hovered just above his head, pausing for a moment. The humming faded gently away. The figure above him leaned down, a cascade of light brown hair coming with her. She pressed her forehead into the side of Ace’s head gently.

            “That’s right. I’m here. Right here beside you.” Her voice was equally soft, but stronger, surer. Warm. “You’ve been so, so brave. I’m so proud of you.” Ace swallowed again, his tears threatening to escape.

It was too much.

Ace let himself be a child again. His hands closed tightly around her skirt, squeezing it in his fists, barely holding back his tears.

“It hurts, Mama. It hurts so much. Everything hurts. And now? Everyone’s gone, too. Sabo’s dead, Mama! _My brother’s_ dead! What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to go on? There’s _nothing left_. Nothing left to live for! My brother’s gone, I’m hurt, bleeding, and broken, and _I’m scared_ , Mama. I’m so, so scared.” Ace pressed his face into her skirt. “…I wanna go home.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I know. I know. I know it hurts, and I know it’s scary, and I know it’s sad, but you’ve been so _strong,_ Ace. My beautiful, brave boy.” She pressed a kiss into the side of his head. “But I need you to be strong for a little while longer, okay?” Ace’s whole body was shivering lightly. He started suddenly, eyes going wide, staring at a point on the wall.

“Something’s breaking, Mama. Something important.” Rouge’s hand on his head pressed onto his scalp firmly, and her other hand gripped his shoulder. Rouge’s eyes were widened too, and she felt anxiety building in her.

“Ace, nothing’s breaking. I need you to come back. Nothing’s breaking. Everything’s fine. You and I will keep it from breaking okay? So come back.” Ace’s body relaxed again, his eyes drifting shut. Rouge relaxed too, and resumed the gentle stroking of his head. They were quiet for a moment, Ace lost in his thoughts and Rouge trying her best to relax him, bring him peace.

Ace had never felt such warmth before. Such…complete and utter peace of mind, such natural comfort as he did with his head on his mother’s lap. Well…that wasn’t quite true. The first night of Luffy’s life, just after Sophie’s death, he had sat in Luffy’s room and held him all night, rocking him gently. Then he had felt similar, holding his newborn little brother, but this was different. This time he was the one being comforted, the one being held.

It was the first time in Ace’s life that it had happened.

Ace let his eyes drift softly closed. A sudden thought pressed into his mind, momentarily distracting him. _If she’s here, then…_ Ace swallowed.

“…Am I dead, Mama?”

“No, sweetheart. You’re still alive. I was just permitted to visit you, given the circumstances and several…strong arguments on my part.”

“…I want to be dead, Mama.” The fingers once more paused in their stroking. Rouge looked down at him surprised.

“Why?”

“Because. I’m…I’m always going to be hated. If I keep living, something like this is just going to happen again. There’s never going to be anything _better._ ”

“Ace…” She was staring down at him with sad eyes. She started suddenly, as if hearing a noise, and looked about the room, placing a hand on Ace’s shoulder protectively. Her eyes searched about the cell quickly, then stopped, focusing.

Right on Whitebeard and the others.

She stared at them for a moment with wide eyes, but then relaxed again, a soft smile coming to her face. She looked back down at Ace. She bent down and whispered, almost conspiratorially.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you’re going to have a family?” Marco looked at her in surprise.

“What?”

“In a couple years, you’ll have a bigger family than you ever imagined. You’ll have so many siblings, the world government can’t even keep track of them all! They’ll be spread out over the seas, so you won’t always be able to see them, but they’ll all still love you.” She chuckled softly. “You’ll probably be worrying constantly about all your little brothers and sisters. But that’s not all.” She looked back up at the three pirates. “You’ll have two older brothers.” Her eyes were soft, looking at Marco and Thatch. “Two older brothers who’d be willing to fight the devil himself to keep you safe.” There was a tiny pause as she shifted her focus to Whitebeard. She smiled at him softly, warmth in her gaze. “And a father. A father who loves you more than you’ll ever be able to know.”

“…Will I die soon?” Rouge looked down at him in confusion.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because,” Ace was smiling, tears quivering behind his eyelids. “That sounds like heaven.”

Marco felt tears in his own eyes. All this time, Hare had been slowly breaking Ace down, bringing him pain, suffering, and loss. Ace had reached the end of his rope. That was why Rouge had come. But even she hadn’t been enough to pull Ace back from the brink of despair. It had been them. Rouge had promised Ace that he would find them. When Ace’s entire reality consisted only of suffering and darkness, they had unknowingly been a light. They had brought him hope.

“…Why did you do it, Mama?”

“What do you mean?” Ace’s face was pressed into her skirt, body tense.

“Why did you die for me?” Rouge smiled softly.

“Because I love you.”

“But _why?_ How could you still possibly love me when all I ever did for you was get you killed?”

Rouge fell silent for a moment. The smile had left her face, but there was a peaceful, serene look in her eyes. She looked out at the opposite wall, as if seeing something there besides the wood. Then she began to sing. Her voice was quiet at first, the beginning notes rippling across the air like petals.

“Who knows when love begins?

Who knows what makes it start?

One day it’s simply there,

alive inside your heart.

It slips into your thoughts,

it infiltrates your soul,

it takes you by surprise,

then seizes full control.

Try to deny it and try to protest,

but love won’t let you go

once you’ve been possessed.

Love never dies.

Love never alters.

Once it has spoken,

love is yours.

Love never fades.

Love never falters.

Hearts may get broken,

love endures.

Hearts may get broken,

love endures.

And soon as you submit,

surrender flesh and bone,

that love takes on a life

much bigger than your own.

It uses you at whim

and drives you to despair

and forces you to feel

more joy than you can bear.

Love gives you pleasure,

and love brings you pain,

and yet when both are gone,

love will still remain.

Love never dies.

Love never alters.

Hearts may get broken,

love endures.

Love never dies.

Love will continue.

Love keeps on beating

when you’re gone.

Love never dies

once it is in you.

Life may be fleeting,

love lives on.

Life may be fleeting,

love lives on.”

The last note floated off into golden silence.

“…That was beautiful.” Ace’s voice held a touch of awe, but it also held fatigue. He was tired. So, so tired. Rouge smiled down at him and kissed his head.

“Your brother wrote it.” Ace gasped in surprise.

“You-You met him?” Ace’s voice was instantly filled with grief and guilt, but there was also a tint of hope.

“Yes. He’s an amazing poet. I never knew words could sound that beautiful.” Ace’s tears were back, once more threatening to spill over.

“Tell him…Tell him I’m sorry, I’m so, so very sorry. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault he-“

“Stop. He knew what he was doing. It was an act of his own free will. He was glad, to be able to save you.” She paused for a moment. “He…He wanted me to give you this.” Rouge reached behind her back and picked up the gift from the floor.

A book. A small, faded, brown leather notebook.

Ace stared at it for a moment, then slowly opened it. Shape and Form. The familiar title greeted his eyes like the smile of an old friend. Ace swallowed thickly. “Sabo…” A sense of peace washed over him when he opened the book. Peace, and a smell like wax and old lace. The name was no more than a whisper. He gripped Rouge’s skirt tightly once more. “Mother…will you promise me something?”

“Anything.” Ace smiled gently at the book.

“Take care of him, will you? He…He needs someone to need him. Never let him be alone.” Ace flipped through the pages, coming to rest on the second to last page where a poem Ace hadn’t heard greeted his eyes. “Crabs aren’t solitary, it isn’t in their nature.” Rouge smiled down at him.

“My son’s brother is my son. He’s a bit of a troublemaker, but I’ll look after him, don’t worry.” Ace yawned involuntarily. Rouge giggled lightly at him. “Go to sleep, Ace.” Ace’s eyes drifted slowly closed, relaxing into her presence. She began stroking his head again. “You’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re not alone here. Help is coming. You’ll get out of here soon, I promise. Never lose hope. And always remember, I’m with you. Whatever happens, I’m here beside you.” Rouge began humming again, the same quiet lullaby Ace was sure she must have sung for him as a baby. He was on the very cusp of sleep, and he knew that she wouldn’t be there when he woke next. He had one more thing he needed to say.

            “I love you, Mama.” Her humming paused, and she pressed a kiss into Ace’s hair. He felt a touch of dampness with that kiss. _Tears?_ But Rouge was smiling, happier than she could ever remember being in her life.

            “I love you too, baby.” The humming resumed and Ace drifted off into dreamless slumber, the first real rest he’d had since he’d left Fuushia. The lullaby’s melody finished in a last, trembling note.

            The scent of vanilla faded.

 

* * *

**(I feel a bit of a warning is in order. For sensitive readers: Read until it gets too intense, then skip to the bottom. I’ll put a non-detailed synopsis of what happens in the author’s notes.)**

 

Ace woke up on the floor, head resting gently on the wooden planks.

He was alone.

Ace knew he should have felt sad, and he did, but more than that he felt peace. Deep serenity. Sabo didn’t hate him or blame him. He was somewhere better. His mother didn’t hate him either, and she was taking care of Sabo now. Ace felt more awake and aware than he had for almost a week. He smiled gently to himself, and hummed the first few measures of Rouge’s lullaby.

“And what might be making you so happy?” The melody froze in Ace’s throat and the smile died. He turned his head slowly and saw Hare standing inside his cell, a few feet away. Ace’s anger overtook his fear. He glared at Hare murderously.

“You killed Sabo. Not only that, you broke your promise to him.” Hare quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh, but did I? I promised him I wouldn’t touch you. I didn’t. I didn’t lay one finger on you all of yesterday. I’m a man of my word. But the promised 24 hour period is up.” Hare took a step forward and Ace shied away. Hare paused, studying Ace. He strode forward quickly, kicking Ace’s shoulder so he was laid flat on his back. Instantly Hare pressed a booted foot against Ace’s sternum, preventing movement. Ace cried out briefly as his broken and fractured ribs screamed their protest to the pressure, but then stopped to glare up at Hare. Seeing the glare, Hare smiled down at Ace.

“This is more fight than you’ve had in over a week. Pleasant dreams, perhaps?”

“The only dreams that are ‘pleasant’ end with you dead in a pool of your own blood.” Ace snarled the words at Hare. Hare chuckled to himself, bending down, bringing his face closer to Ace’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Ace lashed out with his right hand, raking his fingernails down the side of Hare’s face. Hare made a sound of surprise and pulled back, still keeping his foot planted on Ace’s chest, but now upright, hand pressed to his bleeding cheek. He drew the hand away and studied his lightly bloodstained fingers in surprise.

Hare looked back down at Ace. His eyes had changed, though. No more was there the mocking, patronizing distance. His eyes were full of complete, frozen rage. He kneeled down, now pressing on Ace’s right shoulder with his knee, using one hand to stretch Ace’s right arm out to its fullest, holding down the limb by the wrist. Ace struggled, trying to pull away, but Hare’s bodyweight prevented him from escaping. He turned to glare at Ace with the same freezing stare and Ace paused, petrified.

He’d never seen Hare like this.

“Having spirit is fine. Having fight is fine. But you’d better remember your damn place, _Ace._ ” Hare’s voice contained such fury that Ace automatically shrunk back. Hare’s face pulled into a sadistic joke of a smile. Ace battled with his terror for a moment. _Give me strength, Mother, Sabo…_

“You’ll _never_ break me. I know where my place is. My place is back in Fuushia Village. I am Gol D Ace, son of the Pirate King and Portgas D Rouge and _I AM STRONGER THAN YOU.”_ The smile left Hare’s face. It had gone dead. Completely devoid of emotion. All the fury seemed gone from his face, except the eyes. They were aflame with anger.

“Then it’s time for some remedial lessons. How sad that a week and a half of work has seemingly gone to waste. But I’m sure it won’t take long to bring back the fear. The seeds of terror, once sewn, can never be completely eradicated.” Hare’s voice was cold, icy to the point of complete detestation.

Hare turned away from Ace’s face as Ace continued to glare up at him. He felt Hare grab the forefinger of his right hand, holding it tightly.

“Let’s start with your hand. You won’t be needing it anyway.” Hare bent the digit harshly to the right, accompanied by the sound of snapping bone. Ace’s back arched in pain as his finger screamed its distress. A shout of pain tore itself out of his throat, but Ace cut the sound off, biting his cheek. _I am Portgas D. Ace, brother of Luffy and Sabo. My mother died to save my life, but she still loves me anyway. I am stronger than this._

Hare grabbed the next finger.

“What is your place in this life?”

“To live freely. To seek companionship, wherever I may find it.”

“Wrong.” Hare snapped the next finger. Again Ace’s back arched, but he held back his scream, biting into the side of his cheek, tasting blood. Hare grabbed his next finger, his ring finger. Ace’s eyes were squinted shut against the pain, his body trembling gently. _I am Portgas D. Ace, brother of Luffy and Sabo. I love the sea and the sound of waves breaking and starlight. I am stronger than this._

“Do you deserve to live?”

“Yes. Others have died for me. To die now for no reason would be to make those sacrifices in vain.”

“Wrong.” The finger snapped, and this time Ace did scream, unable to hold it back. This time, his body automatically tried to curl into a ball, pulling against Hare’s weight on his arm. He felt tears in his eyes but shoved them back harshly. _No. I am Portgas D. Ace, brother of Luffy and Sabo. One day I am going to have a family, a family that loves me. I. Am._ Stronger _than this._

Hare grabbed his last finger.

“Why do you live?”

“To give my life for someone else as others have given theirs for me.”

“Wrong.” Hare snapped the last finger and Ace screamed in agony. The pain subsided to a powerful ache radiating up his entire arm and Ace realized shock must have sunk in. Hare bent down so his head was next to Ace’s and Ace automatically tried to flinch back. “You live only to die. You were born so that others could kill you. You’re going to die in front of the whole world and no one will weep. They’ll laugh. They’ll laugh and spit on your corpse. Assuming there’s a corpse left, after your execution. No one will ever care about you. No one will ever mourn you. You’ll burn in your own personal hell because even God knows it’s too unbearable to leave someone with you for all of eternity. You’re going to die young and you’re going to _die alone_.” The last sentence echoed in Ace’s head, but in a different voice. In Garp’s voice.

“…No…That’s…that’s not true.” Ace’s mind was going dull now from the shock, vision growing unfocused in a haze of pain. “I…I’m not…” _Someone…someone said they’d be beside me. I’m…I’m not alone…_ “I’m not alone, and I’m not going to die.” Hare laughed cruelly. He jerked a scalpel from his coat and stabbed it harshly into Ace’s shoulder.

“Oh aren’t you? Prove it. If you’re so loved, why are you here? We’ve been out on the sea for over a week now, yet I’ve never seen anyone coming after you, not even an attempt at a rescue.” Hare dug the knife further into Ace’s shoulder, twisting it sharply and eliciting a cry of pain from Ace. “And as for the whole ‘death’ bit, what’s to stop me from killing you right now? There’s no one to save you, no one to stop me. Death is so easy to brush off as accidental. They’ll never know how you _really_ died. They’ll just know that there was an outbreak of a destructive virus on the ship. We tried our very hardest to save you, but the fever just wouldn’t break. You effectively burned to death from the inside out. And that’ll be it. No more questions, no more inquiries.” Hare snorted. “You won’t even get a gravestone. And no one will care. No one will care how painful your death was, and certainly no one will try to save you from it. If they were going to, they would have done so already, right?” The words sank into Ace’s weakened mind. _He’s…He’s right…No one has come to save me…_

Hare saw the uncertainty in Ace’s eyes and a cruel gleam entered his eyes. _One last hammer fall, then he’ll break._ Ace felt more than saw Hare stand, his weight leaving Ace’s arm. Hare looked down at him with a vindictive smirk and gave him a harsh kick to the stomach, driving all air from Ace’s lungs, and turned towards the door, exiting the cell.

Ace lay still on the floor of the cell, not even finding the will to pull his arm back towards himself and study the damage done to his hand. His mind was in a fog bank of pain and shock, and he wasn’t…he wasn’t thinking right. His brain stumbled around sluggishly, and for a moment he thought he saw something, someone, standing there in that mist, but a moment later it was gone, leaving nothing but an impression. Fur, animal ears, and…words. Words Ace couldn’t recall. Finally, finding no way through this asphyxiating haze of ache, he gave up. He just…let himself…be. He didn’t think, he didn’t feel, he just…watched.

But even watching was becoming too much effort.

Ace sank deeper into the mist in his mind, just sitting himself in it, no longer bothering to try to make out shapes like memories and emotions through the curling obscurity. It hurt less this way. No longer looking at memories of something better or hoping for a different future.

Blinding pain, clear agony ripped the mist to shreds and Ace _screamed_. Hurt, pain, hurt, pain, agony, hand, broken, break _ing,_ stop, hurt, hand, stop it, pain, pain, pain, _pain_. Ace came back to his senses lying on his side, curled in a near fetal position, trying to pull his broken fingers out from under Hare’s boot. Hare pulled his foot away and instantly Ace was curled in a ball, the broken appendage clutched to his chest, eyes shut tightly and teeth gritted against any sound. Hare smiled cruelly.

“Oops.” Ace heard the noise of laughter, gruff and callous. It wasn’t Hare laughing, though. And it was more than one voice. Ace forced his eyes open and looked about the room. Hare had brought other marines with him. Ace did a quick head count. There were 11 others besides Hare. Ace felt tension building in his stomach.

Something was _wrong._

Marco looked between the assembled marines, trying to figure out why they were possibly there. He knew something was coming, and he knew that he definitely wasn’t going to like it. Looking between the faces of the marines there, he saw a sickening darkness in all of them, a combination of sadism and bloodlust. But _why? Why_ were they there? Hare was more than capable of inflicting pain on his own. Marco looked to Hare, searching for answers. There was something…brewing, like a storm, something terrible, growing and gaining momentum in that crowd. Hare was looking down at Ace, a predatory gleam in his eyes, triumphant and dark.

“On your stomach.” Marco’s eyes widened. _Oh God…_ Marco raised a hand to his mouth, horror apparent in his face. Ace had turned back to Hare, glaring up at him hatefully.

“Fuck you!” Hare smiled ironically and Marco felt his stomach tighten. Ace didn’t even understand. Marco’s hand curled into a fist. _No please don’t, don’t let this actually happen, please._ Hare turned to one of the marines, extending his hand expectantly. The man snickered and handed something off to Hare. It was a fairly thin bar of metal, iron or steel most likely.

The end glowed bright red like a dying star.

Ace’s eyes instantly focused on the red-hot metal. As Hare brought it closer, Ace began backing up, away from the coming pain.

Well, until one of the present marines grabbed his ankle.

The man jerked it back towards the crowd, Ace shouting as he was dragged over the wooden floor by the broken limb. Once his movement stopped, he instantly began trying to pull away, but the man was still holding his ankle and even the tiniest movement made his leg flash with pain and caused any thought of moving to instantly leave Ace’s mind. Hare drew nearer and Ace stared up at him with wide eyes. Hare kneeled down beside Ace, holding the hot metal where Ace could see it clearly.

“I’ll only ask nicely one more time. On. Your. Stomach.” Ace stared at the bar for a moment, then forced his eyes away, swallowing his fear and glaring at Hare.

“Fuck you.”

Agony. Blinding, white-hot, burning, searing agony. Ace didn’t remember screaming, his mind blotted over with the bright white of pain. He didn’t remember convulsing, his body spasming randomly in a desperate attempt to _make it go away._

When he came back to his senses, the man holding his feet had a broken nose and was holding down both his legs, blood streaming down his face. There was also a man near his head, holding his arms. Ace’s entire body was trembling from the pain, every nerve in the general _area_ of his shoulder _screaming_ at him to not do whatever it was that he had just done again.

Hare stood above him with the metal.

“On your stomach.” Ace tried to throw back a retort, but found himself unable to speak. His body was weak, so, so weak. He’d pushed it so far, and everything can only bend so far before it breaks.

But he refused to submit.

Ace turned his head and spat on Hare.

Hare nodded to the marine holding Ace’s arms and the man grinned, stretching Ace’s left arm out to the side.

The agony began again. It started near his shoulder and traced down his arm slowly, slowly, slowly, each millimeter that the metal moved across his skin bearing fresh agony. Once more Ace’s mind was completely blank, aware of nothing but pain, hurt, each individual cell’s death. His back arched and he screamed again, writhing in anguish.

After uncountable moments, the pain stopped. Or rather subsided.

Ace lay on the floor, his entire body shaking. His breath came in hitched gasps, sticking in his throat as he fought not to scream again.

“On. Your. Stomach.” Ace weakly turned his head towards Hare. Hare was holding his right wrist, the hot metal just centimeters above his broken hand. Ace tried to tell his arm to pull away, to fight Hare’s grip, but found he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough. His body simply couldn’t do it anymore.

He was helpless.

Hare seemed to sense the change in Ace, and his face pulled into a smile.

“You can’t do it anymore, can you?” Ace glared up at Hare, his mind rushing with hatred and anger, and told his body to deny it, to prove him wrong, to lash out.

It didn’t.

Hare smiled at him, triumph in his eyes. Ace felt panic begin to grow in him. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t even run away.

“How does it feel, Ace?” Hare handed the bar back to one of the marines. “How does complete powerlessness, complete helplessness feel?” Real fear began settling in Ace’s mind. Hare had won, Ace couldn’t fight back anymore. Wanted to, but couldn’t. _So why is he still here? Why isn’t he leaving?_

_…What’s he going to do to me now?_

“Let him go, he’s not going anywhere.” The two marines holding Ace’s hands and feet released him, and Ace stared up at Hare, trying to mask his growing fear with anger.

“They say a cornered cat will bite. I say shoot the cat.” Hare crouched down by Ace’s head, looking him in the eye. “We couldn’t very well shoot you, but it’s not like you’re capable of biting back any more.” Ace glared up at him and Hare smirked.

Ace could only watch as Hare reached over him, grabbing his left shoulder and rolling him onto his stomach. Hare then grabbed his arms and brought them above his head, resting his left hand over his right. Ace heard the familiar sound of a scalpel being drawn and shut his eyes, waiting for whatever pain was to come.

And pain did come.

It split completely through the center of each of his hands, a single slit of pain through his palms. Ace looked up at his hands to see the scalpel stabbed clear through them, impaling them and pinning them to the floor. Even if he found the energy to move, he wouldn’t be able to now. Not without completely mangling his hands. Ace looked at Hare with wide eyes, unable to mask his growing fear any longer. _…What now?_

Hare walked around behind Ace and Ace lost sight of him.  He could hear Hare’s footsteps down by his feet and fought to control his breathing. He hated this, not being able to see what was going on and knowing he was helpless to stop whatever was coming.

He felt Hare – or was it one of the other marines? Ace couldn’t be sure anymore, blind as he was – grab his left leg and spread it away from his right. He heard one of the marines moving behind him, and he felt the man’s larger form looming over his own.

A hand was placed on Ace’s back, up by his neck. Ace automatically flinched, expecting a blow or some other kind of pain, but none came. Ace felt his trepidation growing, instinctively knowing something was terribly, horribly wrong.

The hand began trailing downward, tracing slowly down his spine. Ace whimpered as some salt from the man’s sweat got into one of the innumerable lashes on his back.

“Make him do that again.” The voice came from further behind Ace, not the man whose hand was on his back. The voice was low, primal. Lustful.

And Ace knew. Ace knew what was coming.

 _Oh God._ The hand continued its slow drawl down Ace’s back, and Ace’s fear only continued to grow. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t run away.

He was helpless.

The hand was about halfway down his back now. Ace tried to tell his body to run, fight back, _anything._ But he couldn’t. Ace felt desperation setting in. _If I have_ ever _made a friend in this life, let them save me now._

The hand continued it’s downward trail.

No one came to save him.

Ace’s fear only continued to grow, his stomach knotting. The man’s hand continued moving, occasionally stroking gashes or cuts and pressing against bruises, trying to get Ace to whimper or gasp again.

The hand grabbed onto the waistline of his shorts.

Ace bit his lip hard to suppress a whimper.

 _“Whenever you feel alone or afraid, Ace, there’s always someone else you can turn to.”_ Makino’s kind, smiling face pulled itself into Ace’s mind. Ace shut his eyes tightly and began to whisper.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name-“ The hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. He gave a small cry of pain and fell silent.

“That’s right, Ace. _Pray_. I’m sure God will come to save you.” The hand shoved his face back into the floorboards harshly. He felt his shorts being pulled roughly over his hips and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

 _No one’s…No one’s coming to save me. Nobody cares._ Ace felt tears coming to his eyes. Nobody cared enough to save him from something this cruel, this _inhuman_. Ace felt the man spread his legs further.

The man forced himself inside of Ace and Ace couldn’t help the cry of pain that leapt out of his throat. He cut off the sound, though, biting hard on his lip. The man began thrusting, gaining momentum as time passed. Ace tasted blood and realized his lip had split from his biting it, but he didn’t care. Ace squeezed his eyes shut. It hurt. It hurt really, _really_ bad. _No one cares about me. Nobody’s coming to save me._

Tears pricked at Ace’s eyes.

 _I’m alone. Entirely. Utterly. Alone._ The man was panting, grunting occasionally. Ace felt like he was being torn in half.  The man only continued going faster, deeper, harder and Ace wanted to throw up, wanted to scream, wanted to run away.

Ace wanted to die.

 _I’m completely alone._ Tears continues to rise behind Ace’s closed eyelids and why hold them back any more? The last of his dignity was already being taken away. _That conversation with my mother? Nothing more than the byproduct of exhaustion and a guilty conscience. A dream. She’s dead. Sabo’s dead. They both hate me because it’s my fault they’re not alive anymore. Shanks must hate me too. His promise? A lie._ A sob wracked Ace’s frame, and tears began trailing down his face.

It was the first time amidst all the pain that Hare had put him through that Ace had cried.

The man came heavily, groaning with pleasure. Ace’s sob turned into a choked cry of pain as he did, and Ace grit his teeth tightly to resist a second cry of pain as the man pulled out of him.

Another man was there in an instant, all too willing to take his companion’s place.

Ace’s mind began to sink into its mist again. Tears continued streaking down his face and he sobbed openly, unable to contain the grief, the loneliness, the pain any longer.

The second man forced his way inside Ace and Ace cried out again.

 _There’s nothing left. Nothing left to hope for._ Ace’s mind was growing distant, the man behind him fading away, becoming irrelevant. There was just the pounding of flesh against Ace’s own and the pain. Always the pain.

Ace sunk further into his mind, trying to hide himself in memories. Luffy’s sixth birthday, just a few months ago. Makino making them dinner on thanksgiving. Ace’s eyes widened.

 _No…No!_ The details were fading. Ace couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the exact shade of Makino’s eyes, the way Luffy’s face had lit up at his birthday present, the texture of Shanks’ coat. It was all fading. The mist swallowing it into the nothingness. Ace tried desperately to seize onto that last refuge, but it was abandoning him. The villagers, his friends, his neighbors, were becoming faceless. Tears streamed down Ace’s face with renewed vigor, grief of what he had lost, what he was losing filling him.

Whitebeard’s back was to Ace, a hand over his mouth, his eyes closed. Disgust was roiling in his stomach. _Who could do this to a_ child? _Who could do this to_ anyone? It wasn’t just disgust occupying his mind, though. There was also hate. Lots, and lots of hate. He would kill Hare. He would kill everyone who had been in this room. He would kill everyone who had been on this _ship._

“This is the man you wouldn’t let Ace kill.” Serpent’s words jolted Whitebeard out of his thoughts. He blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“This is the man you wouldn’t let Ace kill. This. Man. What I can’t figure out is why the hell he _listened_ to you.” Whitebeard swallowed thickly, guilt building in him.

“I-I didn’t know. I didn’t know that Hare had-“

“That what? Hare had tortured him? _Raped_ him? _Killed his brother?_ Well you should have damn well asked before deciding to let Hare live.” Serpent’s voice was snide and angry, full of righteous fury. Whitebeard bowed his head, shame, guilt, and sorrow taking up residence in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re right. I should have.”

“No, Oyaji. It’s not your fault.” Marco could see the guilt in Whitebeard’s face.

“You know, you’re right Marco. It’s partially _your_ fault too.” Marco turned and addressed the room at large since Serpent wasn’t physically with them.

“Oh? How do you mean?” Marco felt trepidation rising in him and ran over everything Ace had said to him in the past couple of weeks. Serpent’s voice became a snarl.

“He was trying to _tell you this!_ He was trying to tell you all of this! But no. No. Your _God damned work was too important!” _Marco’s eyes widened.

_“Marco…I need to talk to you about something.” Ace didn’t look at him, and his voice was a mess of raw grief, guilt, sorrow, and pain. Marco failed to hear the emotion, and merely twitched in annoyance, his grip on the pen tightening imperceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was cold and more than a little angry._

_“I’m kind of_ busy _right now, Ace. Can it wait?” Ace glanced up at Marco._

_“But it’s really important-“ Marco turned to look at him, patience at an end._

_“I_ said _I’m busy. Now if you’ll please excuse me.”_

“He trusted you to be there for him in a way he trusted _no one else_ and that was what you gave him.” Serpent’s voice went sarcastic, mocking. “Good job, Marco. Good fucking job.” Guilt beyond anything he had ever felt filled Marco. He felt frustration building in him, his fists clenching tightly. _Damn it, can I not do anything right? All I’ve ever done is let Ace down when he needs me. I’m completely_ useless! _DAMN IT._ Marco lashed out, striking the barrier with flaming wings. He sank to his knees, still pressed against the wall.

 _…I never pictured Death with blue wings._ Marco’s head jerked up, as did Thatch’s and Whitebeard’s. Ace was looking at them. His eyes were unfocused, bleary. He had lost so much blood, he was literally hanging on the edge of death. His eyes were locked with Marco’s. Marco’s widened eyes stared into Ace’s desperate for forgiveness, recognition, anything.

“Ace…”

The man thrust deeper and deeper and Ace cried out briefly, the pain reaching new levels. He was sure he was bleeding. You don’t feel pain like this without some kind of physical damage. He _hurt._ He _hurt so much,_ and there was nowhere to hide from this pain. Everything was gone. Everything Ace had ever found safety and comfort in was gone.

There was no way out.

He was going to stay here. He wasn’t going to escape or get away. He was going to be a prisoner here for the rest of his life. And Hare would make every day of that life a living hell. Nobody dead or alive cared about him. He was alone. He’d never be free again. Ace’s eyes shut tightly and his teeth clenched as the man came, thrusting deeply into him one more time. Ace felt his teeth creak and was amazed they didn’t break under the pressure he was subjecting them to.

A third man came to Ace, shoving his way inside of him. One hand found its way to Ace’s hip while the other tangled meaty fingers in his hair.

 _There were…there were 12 men in the room._ Ace swallowed thickly at the realization. He couldn’t do it. He could not survive this another 9 times. He would pass out. He would die. He had no more reserves to fall back on, no strength to sustain him through this. Ace’s mind continued to sink deeper into its embracing fog.

The last of his memories faded away into the mist.

Ace had nothing left. There had been nothing before this, and he had no reason to expect anything better in the future. This would go on forever. This pain. This humiliation. This bitter solitude. This worthlessness.

There was no way out.

“But there _is_ a way out.” Ace opened tearstained eyes, looking to his left where the voice had come from.

Dress shoes. Black. Shiny. Ace’s eyes moved up a little farther.

Long legs. Slacks. Elegant. Black.

Pea coat. Dark, dark grey. Unbuttoned.

Black waistcoat. Buttoned. White dress shirt underneath. Dark tie. Really dark blue or black. Hard to tell which.

Gloves. Simple. Elegant. White. Gold pocket-watch, tick tick tick.

Ace moved his eyes to the face.

Hazel-grey eyes met hazel-grey eyes. White fur, perfect, unblemished, brilliantly bright, covered the head. Two long ears, rabbit ears, arched up off the top of his head.

He was smiling. Just a small, conversational upturn of his lips.

He extended an elegant hand towards Ace, snapping shut the pocket-watch and putting it back in his pocket.

“Let’s be off, Ace. We’re behind schedule. Running very close to _late_.” Ace stared up at him.

“Who are you?” The creature placed one arm across his chest and bowed elegantly at the waist.

“I’m the White Rabbit. I’ll be your guide, if you’ll permit me. Now,” He extended his hand toward Ace again, the smile widening slightly. “Shall we?”

* * *

(Synopsis for sensitive readers:

After Hare breaks his fingers, Ace sinks into a kind of ‘mist’ in his mind, shock, pain, and the beginning of his PTSD. Hare returns later that day, something he never does, and brings 11 men with him, something else he never does. After further torturing Ace to the point where his body literally refuses to move anymore, Hare and the others rape him. Ace’s mind really collapses now, all supports leaving him. He loses hope entirely. His memories ‘fade into the mist’ and he wants to die. Serpent yells at Marco and Whitebeard for not listening to Ace when he wanted to kill Hare. Ace sinks further into his mind, completely out of hope. “There was no way out” are the last words he thinks.

And then the White Rabbit appears.

I describe him being dressed in black dress shoes, black slacks, a dark grey pea coat (unbuttoned), a black waistcoat, a white dress shirt, a dark tie (Ace is unsure whether it’s dark blue or black), and white gloves. He has a gold pocket-watch. He and Ace speak (The White Rabbit’s dialogue is identical to what he says to Ace in chapter 11 at first) and the White Rabbit introduces himself formally, saying he’ll be Ace’s guide. The last line of the chapter is him inviting Ace into Wonderland.)

(The song Rouge sung was Love Never Dies by Andrew Lloyd Webber)


	24. Chapter 24

“Alright, are you guys ready for this?” Serpent’s voice jolted Thatch out of his reverie. He had been staring at the White Rabbit, fascinated. This was the savior Ace had imagined for himself. Serpent’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he turned away from the White Rabbit. Serpent continued speaking. “This is the best time to observe. You’ll still continue watching for this part. You need to try to figure out who Mr. Savage is before you go exploring on your own later. Everything seems harmless now, but later…” Serpent trailed off.

            “What should we be looking for?”

            “It’s hard to say exactly. Mr. Savage will be hidden among the others. A ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ if you will.  Wonderland will seem…weird to you at first. A little distorted, maybe. At this point in time, Ace has pretty much rejected reality, so his psyche created something surreal. You probably gathered that already from the White Rabbit. It’ll be easier for you later if you can accept Wonderland as it is as opposed to pointing out every flaw or impossibility.” Serpent paused.

            “Oh, and one more thing. This is kind of really important, so I’d appreciate if you’d pay attention to this bit.” Serpent took a deep breath. “Mr. Savage isn’t the only one you have to look out for. Every being of Wonderland is currently trying to take over Ace’s mind. They each want control, to be their own being, to own Ace’s body. When you guys are exploring on your own, you can’t allow any of Wonderland’s inhabitants to gain any kind of sway over Ace.

“Also…seeing as this is Ace’s mind, it might be the case that when the inhabitants of Wonderland see you as foreign, they may try to kill you. They’re all pieces of Ace’s mind, and if they view you as intruders intending to do harm, well…survival instincts at their finest. And enhanced by being able to disobey physics, manipulate their environment, and being in possession of some deadly weapons and techniques. The Jabberwocky, in particular, was created as a guardian of Wonderland. If you encounter this being, run. Seriously. I know it hurts your little pirate egos, but you _should not_ engage the Jabberwocky. Ace felt unsafe, so he dreamed up a giant monster to protect him. It seemed natural. Never mind that that’s when Wonderland started to go wrong. The Jabberwocky is nigh invincible, and it’ll know right away that you’re not from Wonderland and _hate_ you for it. If it comes for you, don’t look at it, don’t try to harm it, and _run the hell away._

You may be able to win the others to your side, though. Ace’s memories from when he’s 20 are still there, just suppressed. The inhabitants of Wonderland will know that Ace trusts and respects and cares about you guys, and that’ll make them less aggressive. Still. Don’t piss them off. And whatever you do, do not, I repeat, _do not_ eat _anything._ Hatter’s tea, the Red Queen’s cakes, nothing. The inhabitants may try to give you food, but politely decline everything. Find an excuse. I don’t care if you have to tell them you’re allergic to every damn food on the planet, find a way to turn them down. And don’t piss them off while doing it. That’ll be hard in the Red Queen’s case, but find a way. Oh, and one more thing. They’re all insane. Completely. Hatter especially, but the others are too. Caterpillar is probably the calmest, seeing as all he does is smoke opium all day, but even he’s crazy. So don’t piss anyone off. Insanity plus anger equals three little pirates used as wall paint. Got it? Alright good. So, what are you going to do?”

“Watch and try to figure out who Mr. Savage is, and when we get in there later on by ourselves, don’t piss anyone off, prevent the inhabitants from taking over Ace’s mind, and don’t eat anything.”

“Good. You missed a point, though.”

“Really? What?” Thatch could almost hear Serpent smile.

“You forgot the bit where you find and kill Mr. Savage.”

 

* * *

 

            “Shall we?” Ace stared at the proffered hand. He looked at the floor.

            “I…I can’t…the knife-“ The White Rabbit’s smile widened.

            “What knife?” Ace looked at his hands. The knife was gone, as was any sign of the injury. Ace’s mind raced. There was no way. He had felt the knife slide through his hands, pinning them to the floor, had briefly pulled against it and felt tearing pain at the minor attempt. There was no way he just _imagined_ the whole thing. He brought his hands close to his face, studying the perfect skin closely. There was no mark. Not so much as a tiny incision. _But…What…?_ Ace looked to the White Rabbit with confusion apparent on his face. The Rabbit looked down at him kindly, a look of understanding in his eyes.

            “Has the young master had a bitter dream, perhaps?” Ace looked back down at his hands. _…Dream?_ There was a buzzing in his ears, low and intense and he tried to think, tried to remember.

            “No…no, it wasn’t-“

            “The best cure for nightmares is a nice walk, don’t you think?” Ace continued to stare at his hands. _Dream…dream. Nightmare._ Ace shook his head. _No, it wasn’t. There was-_ The buzzing intensified, drowning thoughts. Ace brought a hand to his head and rubbed his forehead, trying to force down the buzzing. Dream. A dream. A hard, horrible, bitter dream. What else could it be? The buzzing receded, fading to a dull hum. Ace felt like his mind was sinking in honey, the buzzing lulling his brain. _Just a dream. A dream. Because in reality rabbits wear waist-coats and dormice drink tea and…and…_

_and cats smile._

The humming continued, gentle and soothing, just stroking the back of his brain. Yes. This was reality. This was real. The White Rabbit was real.

            Ace reached up and took his hand.

They stood, and for a moment Ace felt surprised. _My legs…they shouldn’t support me…_ The buzzing returned, and Ace rubbed his forehead again. _A dream. Dreams can’t hurt you. Of course your legs support you. The Rabbit invited you on a walk, he wouldn’t do that if you couldn’t stand._ The buzzing subsided and the two began walking towards the bars of the cell, and, reaching them, passed clear through them. Ace blinked in surprise. They had looked so solid. A smile came to Ace’s face, then he burst out laughing. The Rabbit turned to him, mild surprise on his face. Ace’s laughter subsided and he smiled.

“That’s a wonderful trick, Rabbit. How did you make the bars look so real?” The Rabbit smiled back.

“What is reality but our perception? What we decide is real becomes reality. We decided those bars weren’t real, so they had no power over us. Suppose you believed they were solid, hard as steel. You wouldn’t have made it through. Sentient will is the universe. I think, therefore I am.”

“Hmm. I never thought of it like that.” Ace turned back towards the cell. “So you’re telling me if I thought the bars were-“ Ace stopped dead. The buzzing in his head exploded into a shrill, impossibly loud ringing and he clutched his head, falling to his knees. His eyes were squeezed shut and he tried to force back the blinding noise. The Rabbit came around and kneeled in front of him, coming between him and the cell. The ringing subsided to a persistent throbbing drone. The Rabbit took Ace’s face between his hands, the soft fabric of his gloves pressed against his cheeks. Ace stared up into his eyes, alarm in his face.

“There’s something laying there on the floor, Rabbit!” Ace tried to crane his neck to look at it again, but the Rabbit held his face still.

“Hush. Hush. It’s nothing. Look at me, Ace. Look at me, not that.” Ace looked up into his face.

“It looked dead, Rabbit! I think it’s a corpse!” Ace shuddered. “…It scares me.”

“Hush, hush. It can’t hurt you. I’m here. I’ll take away all your fears now, Ace. That’s my job. But you have to trust me, Ace, and follow where I lead.” Ace stared at him with wide eyes. The Rabbit took his hands gently and they stood, turning away from the cell. They began walking away, down the hallway. The Rabbit looked back at Ace’s face and smiled gently. “Come now, Ace, give us a smile. _Everyone’s_ happy these days.” Ace looked up into the Rabbit’s face then, slowly, pulled his face into a smile. It took surprising effort, like he hadn’t done it in a long time. They continued down the hallway, coming to the staircase. The Rabbit pulled Ace towards the one that led down, but Ace pulled them to a stop.

“Wait. I think we have to go up to get out.” The Rabbit turned to look at him, smile still on his face.

“Down the rabbit-hole we go.” The Rabbit tugged on his hand and led the two of them down the stairs. Ace resisted for a moment longer, then gave in, following him.  The Rabbit’s smile widened. _Oh Ace. Naïve, pliable child. Who said anything about getting out? Did it scare you? Seeing your body on the floor?_ The Rabbit’s smile turned to a smirk. _The Caucus Race begins. One of us will get you, Ace. The Hatter, Queen, Caterpillar, Dodo, or I_ will _get you. The others aren’t strong enough, but we are. I_ will _be the one to claim control. I’ll reach the finish first._

_You must not trust, Ace. Trust is the fear-killer. Are you really just going to accept us? Let us in? All we want is that key in your pocket. We’ll play nice, at first. But over time you’ll see our true colors. Violence. Bloodlust. Madness. What do we say about you, creator dear? We’re all mad here, and just because you made us doesn’t make you an exception. But that doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to win the Caucus Race, I’m going to get what all of us want so badly and then I’ll crush the rest._

_I think._

_I think, therefore I am._

_I think, therefore I am, therefore I_ WANT.

* * *

 

            Colors. Bright, vibrant colors.

            “Well? What do you think?”

            Sunlight. Warm, gentle, innately comforting.

            Waves sighed softly against the white sand, so pale it almost matched the occasional wisp of cloud floating across the sky. The water was turquoise-blue, like polished apatite and foamy white waves tossed themselves rhythmically against the sand. Ace took in a deep breath, tasting the salty air and distantly hearing the cries of gulls. The Rabbit was standing by his side, smiling down at him. Ace’s heart swelled, feeling the breeze, tasting the sea, feeling sunlight, seeing colors. It was all so different from what his…dream had been. He didn’t hurt. Nobody was coming to get him. He wasn’t alone. Ace could have wept for happiness. Ace turned away from the coast, looking inland. His jaw nearly dropped in shock. The beach continued for quite a ways, an expansive white plain of sand. At the other end, though, just before sand became grass, a massive archway curved into the sky. It was made entirely of woven clear and opaque glass, as if someone had formed it out of sand and blasted it with fire. But it was hollow. Water flowed through the entire arch, a current of the turquoise-blue liquid moving impossibly up and back down through the structure with no means of propulsion. There were fish, brightly colored, swimming in the translucent liquid, vibrant reds, purples, greens, blues and yellows, moving through the water sporadically like butterflies. Ace’s mind raced. _That’s…that’s not possible. Water doesn’t move like this. Water only flows downhill, so how is it-?_

            “What do you think? Dodo prides himself on the Gate. He made it to welcome all visitors and travelers. It’s a pretty thing, no arguments there, but it’s a little…lavish for my tastes.” Ace continued to stare in awe.

            “But…but how does the water move like that?”

            “I’ve told you before. Sentient will is the universe. Dodo told the water to move, so it did.” The Rabbit took Ace’s hand, leading him towards the arch.

            As they approached, the true size of the arch was revealed. The glass curved 40 feet into the air, the ends reaching out equidistant on either side, maybe 30 feet away. When the glass met sand, it sunk down into it, bringing in the water through some kind of subterranean channel.

            “Oh my oh my oh my! Welcome! Welcome! Who do we have here?” A figure was approaching them, almost at a run. As he drew nearer, his shape grew more distinct.

            The Dodo’s feathers were ashy teal. Somewhat stunted wings, certainly flightless, protruded from his sides. In one he held a cane, simple and elegantly carved dark wood leading up to a silver handle. He had a grey-silver vest on, and a monocle covered one eye. The other stared out at Ace as he cocked his head, looking him up and down, studying him through his one visible hazel-grey eye. He spread his wings wide, almost as if to hug Ace.

            “Welcome! Welcome welcome! It’s really been too long, Ace! You should have come to visit sooner!” Ace’s face pulled into a hesitant, confused smile.

            “But I’ve never…” The buzzing in his ears grew once again and he trailed off. Ace shook his head. _Of course I’ve met the Dodo. He’s the Gatekeeper, after all. My…_ dream _is just throwing me off. Dodo’s my friend. He’s welcoming me like a friend. He wouldn’t have done that if we’d never met before._ Ace’s smile became surer.

            “Sorry Dodo. I just dozed off upstairs and lost track of time.” Dodo threw his head back and laughed, the human sound mixing with the sound of a bird squawking.

            “Oh Ace. Narcoleptic, distractible Ace. Whatever would we do without you?” Dodo turned and looked at Rabbit, cocking his head to study him as he had studied Ace a moment before. A silent moment passed. Dodo readjusted his monocle.

            “Evening, Rabbit. How goes the Caucus Race?” The Dodo’s voice was the same, but his eyes had changed. There was…a spark. No, it wasn’t a spark. A spark implies light. There was…hunger. Desire. Animalistic _want._ The Rabbit placed a gloved hand on Ace’s shoulder possessively.

            “Fine. And you, Dodo?” The Dodo glanced at the Rabbit’s hand, eyes darting to the white glove only for an instant before refocusing on the Rabbit’s face. He gave a snort.

            “You think you’ll win, don’t you? Think you have the upper hand?” The Dodo laughed. “I think a little humility would do you good, Rabbit. We all know the story of the tortoise and the hare, after all. Your kind didn’t fare so well then, I recall.” The Rabbit smiled at him politely, eyes cold.

            “Winning, losing, it’s all a matter of perspective.” The Rabbit smiled. “I think, therefore I am. I think I’m going to win, therefore I _am_ going to win.”

            “Um, excuse me, but what is the Caucus Race?” Ace was looking between the two with uncertainty bordering on concern, and extracted his shoulder from under the Rabbit’s hand, taking a subtle step away from both of them. Both turned to look at Ace and Dodo cocked his head, adjusting his monocle again.

            “It’s a game we play here.” The Dodo’s voice went back to its former lightness, the hunger leaving his eyes. “All of Wonderland is currently involved in this round. It’s become…quite intense.” Dodo reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a sheet of paper, studying it for a moment. “Just now, the current leaders are Queen, Caterpillar, and Hatter.” He turned to Rabbit with a smirk. “You’re in fifth, Rabbit. Right behind me. You’ve fallen a ways in the last 3 minutes.” Rabbit smiled politely and Dodo raised an eyebrow. Turning back to Ace, he continued. “As the name implies, it’s a race.”

            “Where are you racing to?” The Dodo laughed, the strange mix of bird and human noises jumping out of his chest again.

            “Why, nowhere, of course!”

            “Then how-“

            “What I mean is that our destination moves, changes constantly. But it’s a twofold race. It’s not just the location that you need.” Ace blinked at the Dodo with curiosity.

            “And the second part?” Dodo seemed to smile.

            “The prize.”

            “Isn’t the prize generally awarded after the race?” Dodo chortled.

            “Don’t you remember?

Backward, forward, outward, inward

Bottom to the top

Never a beginning

There can never be a stop

To skipping, hopping, tripping fancy free and gay

Started it tomorrow but will finish yesterday

Round and round and round we go

Until forever more

For once we were behind

But now we find we are be-“

            “Dodo. That’s enough of that.” The Rabbit, previously studying his watch, snapped it shut, looking Dodo in the eye. “Honestly you’ll make us all go mad with your riddles.”

            “Oh, but we’re all mad here.” Ace’s head jerked around, looking for the source of the sound. _That voice…_ Ace looked all around, but could see no sign of any speaker. _It wasn’t Dodo or Rabbit, though. So who?_

            “Well, Ace and I must be getting on. We’re very late indeed. Are you ready to go, Ace?” Ace turned to face the Rabbit once more.

            “I- yeah. Let’s go.” The pair began walking off, the sand fading into tussocks of scrappy grass, white fading into tan and then brown as sand mixed with dirt. Ace turned back and waved to Dodo, smiling. “It was nice to see you, Dodo!” The Dodo gave a bobbing bow and called back.

            “Always a pleasure, Ace.”

            Ace turned back to face the Rabbit only to find him studying his pocket watch with narrowed eyes, annoyance plain on his face. He looked up and met Ace’s eyes. He sighed.

            “I have to go. Queen is calling me. Can you manage on your own for a little while?” Ace blinked.

            “I-I guess. Did you say Queen?”

            “Yes, Red Queen is my current employer. I work as an announcer in the court.” He paused for a moment, looking pensive. “You should meet Queen. I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.” He studied Ace critically. “But you can’t come as you are now. Hmm…” He snapped his fingers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen and a small notebook of paper. He opened the book, but paused studying the page. The pen began to flip between his fingers as he studied the blank page, spinning from one finger to the other and back again. Finally the pen paused, then the Rabbit began to write. After a moment he tore the sheet out of the book and handed it to Ace.

            It was a map.

            “I want you to follow this map, okay Ace? There’re all kinds of landmarks you can use to guide you, and there’s nothing here that will do you any harm whatsoever.” Ace traced the trail the Rabbit had drawn on the map with a finger.

            “And where does this lead?” The Rabbit smiled down at him.

            “This will lead you to Hatter. He’ll help you get properly dressed and teach you some of the dos and don’ts of visiting Queen.” One of Rabbit’s ears swiveled and he jerked his head, looking off to the left. “I’ve got to go. Queen will be upset if I’m late.” Ace nodded.

            “O-Okay.” The Rabbit turned to look at him once more.

            He bent at the waist, giving a slight bow. “See you later, Ace.” Ace nodded and smiled.

            “Yeah.” With that, the Rabbit spun on his heel and began walking away. Ace stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the map.

            It was relatively simple, containing only information pertinent to the route the Rabbit had outlined for him. The paper itself fascinated Ace, though.

            “Rabbit, is this-“ Ace looked up, meaning to shout the question to the departing Rabbit, but he was gone. Ace blinked. The Rabbit had been no more than 10 feet away 2 minutes ago. There was no way he could just _vanish._ Ace snorted to himself. _Who am I to define what is and isn’t possible here? An hour ago I didn’t think rabbits could talk or that dodo’s could rhyme. Look at the Gate._

Ace glanced around, examining his surroundings. He was on the border of a forest. The trees nearest to Ace were all cherry trees, all in full bloom. Pink-white petals floated through the intermittent shafts of light, the gold of the late afternoon sun giving a barely detectable orange tint to the scene. The ground around the blossoming trees was bare of vegetation, the light soil in stark contrast to the dark bark of the trees. Further in, past the grove of cherry trees, the forest changed a bit. It was still light, the trees neither densely packed nor overgrown, and while there were ground plants, they didn’t choke out the ground. The area was rich green, seemingly it got enough rain each year to support a rich variety of plants. Moss grew on the trunks of trees and on the ground, softening harsh edges and making the emerald shading of the entire area all the more obvious.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Ace snapped out of his thoughts and he jumped, eyes instantly searching for the source of the voice. _That’s the one. That’s the one I heard at the Gate._

Ice blue eyes met hazel-grey ones.

“Evening, Cheshire.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Evening, Cheshire.” A low chuckle came out from the shadows of one of the trees, and the shadows formed around the two frozen blue eyes.

            Cheshire stepped out into the light.

            He was big, the top of his head coming even with Ace’s shoulder. He had a wide head, the slightly slanted blue eyes burning out of the light grey fur that covered his head and body. His ears curved off the near top of his head, slicing into points. A light gold hoop dangled off his left ear, shining in dull metallic lackluster. He had a long neck, longer than a cat’s neck had any business being. It was very thin, seemingly almost too thin to support the head, and the vertebrae bulged out under the skin that was pulled tight against them. The Cat’s torso, too, was emaciated beyond natural starvation, the ribs standing out against his skin, his stomach arching harshly back towards his spine like he had been starving for years. His shoulder blades were harshly defined, as was his spine as it continued down his back. His tail was long and thin, the skin around it looking more like an exoskeleton than fur. The appendage looked jointed, like that of an insect, and the tip of the tail came to a tuft of light grey, almost white, hair. His forelegs were thin, though not quite as starved-looking as his torso. Black, tattoo-like markings encircled each leg, and his paws were almost overly large, the claws neatly impaling the ground. The same was true of his back legs, though none of the almost tribal tattoos could be seen there. The marks continued, becoming almost blue-grey as they arched their way over his ears and curled on his eyebrows.

            He was grinning.

            The smile took up more space on his head than anything else, white, perfectly straight teeth shining out of his face. His heavy eyebrows and overall appearance made the expression…sinister, to say the least.

            “Good evening, Ace.” His voice was low, smooth, and even. “I’m impressed you know who I am.”

            “Couldn’t forget you. But I can’t exactly remember you either.” Cheshire stood, and Ace took an involuntary step back. Cheshire chuckled.

            “Are you afraid of me?” Ace met his eyes.

            “Yes.” Ace briefly glanced him up and down. “Why do you…why do you look…”

            “Like a monster?”

            “Yes.” Cheshire’s grin seemed to widen.

            “I suspect it’s because I _AM ONE_. What lovely little monsters you’ve made, Ace. Just because I don’t lie to you, don’t wear a mask like the others, does that make me worse than them?” The buzzing in Ace’s ears was back, had come back as soon as Cheshire had begun speaking. “You’ve dreamed yourself up a Wonderland, Ace. A land of speculation and conjecture. It’s all nice and pretty right now because you’ve only glazed us over, but we have sharp edges, Ace. Everything has sharp edges when it breaks. Why should the mind be any different?”

            “The mind is broken.” The buzzing in Ace’s head was loud, and he realized the sentence didn’t make sense but couldn’t figure out what he was trying to say.

            “Your mind, to be specific.” Ace rubbed his forehead, trying to push down the buzzing. “Tell me. Ever since entering Wonderland, you’ve been told time and time again that this is reality. You’ve been welcomed as a friend. _But what was it you saw laying on the floor and how did you get here?”_ The buzzing in Ace’s ears intensified further and Ace took a step back, shaking his head.

            “I- I don’t know what I saw-“

            “You know. You know, but you want to forget. Tell me, Ace. _What did you see there?”_

            “I don’t know! I don’t-“

            “You know what you saw. Say it. Remember. Avoiding the problem won’t make it go away, Ace. Face it. Face it and accept.” Ace fell to his knees, defeated.

            “I saw…I saw a body.”

            “Whose body, Ace?”

            “It was mine.” Ace’s voice was hollow. “I saw myself lying on the floor.” The buzzing in Ace’s ears broke, cutting off into silence. Ace shivered. “I was dead.” Cheshire walked forwards, sitting in front of Ace and lowering his head so they were eye to eye.

            “Not dead. Just forgotten. Reality was too cruel for you, it seems. You forgot that reality and created this one. This isn’t real, Ace. Madness isn’t a state of mind. Not anymore. It’s a place. Welcome to Madness, Ace. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay.”

            “I- I don’t want to go mad.” Cheshire sighed.

            “It’s true, you aren’t mad yet. Well…you’re as sane as anyone who hallucinates entire worlds can be. But if you don’t want to end up like us, I suggest you get out of here and get out of here fast. You have to win the Caucus Race. You have a leg up on the others.”

            “The Caucus Race…it sets me on edge. The others…they _change_ when they talk about it.”

            “If you’re not on edge, you’re taking up too much space.”

            “Cheshire. Be useful.” Cheshire chuckled.

            “You say they change? I beg to differ, Ace. I say they change when they _don’t_ speak of it.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Cheshire chuckled.

            “I don’t answer questions.”

            “Wha-“

            “If I gave you all the answers, where would the fun be?” Ace glared at him, but Cheshire just laughed. A moment passed, and when Cheshire’s laughter subsided he continued. “The others pretend to be nice to befriend you. But what lies beneath this patina of civility? Something _wicked_ I’ll wager.”

            “Wonderland certainly isn’t very wondrous.”

            “It’s all a matter of _perspective_ , Ace. If you’re going to survive long here, you’d better drop that naïveté. Widened eyes and a cute face do very little to stop a knife.”

            “Rabbit said nothing here would hurt me.”

            “That’s true for now. But unfortunately you’re not a very patient person ergo we aren’t either. They want the Prize, Ace, and sooner or later they’ll do anything to get it.”

            “But that has nothing to do with me. _”_

            “Reach into your left pocket.” Ace did. There was something in it, something fairly small. It was about two inches shorter than his hand. Further exploring it’s shape with his fingers, Ace figured out what it was.

            A key.

            “What is this-“ Ace moved to pull the key out of his pocket, but Cheshire snarled at him, eyes hard.

            “ _Don’t_ pull it out. Do you want them all to come here for it? Tear each other apart to get it? Tear _you_ apart to get it?” Ace stopped, releasing the key to let it fall back to the bottom of his pocket. His eyes were wide and he stared at Cheshire. “The only place it’s safe is there. As soon as you remove it, they’ll all come for you. That’s why they’re being so polite and friendly right now, but as soon as it clears your pocket there’s no more safety. You’ll be worthless to them after that and excess is disposed of. Queen sees to that.”

            “So now my mind is trying to destroy me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

            “Was your old reality any better?”

            “I…I don’t remember.” Cheshire snorted.

            “Yes you do. You’ve just convinced yourself to forget. An experience forgotten never was. Seeking refuge from the wicked world? Perhaps things only _look_ like they’ve gone to hell.”

            “Perspective is reality in this place, it seems. In that case, yes, things do seem to have gone to hell. But I’m safe for now.”

            “Wrong. Safety is nowhere. You yourself created an exception. There’s someone here who can and will take that key by force.” Ace blinked.

            “I created a monster capable of getting through my only defense? Perfect.” Cheshire’s grin seemed to widen.

            “His name is Mr. Savage.” Ace didn’t know the name, but he still felt a chill shoot down his spine.

            “Mr. Savage. Personified violence, basically.” Cheshire shrugged.

            “Spawn of Satan, Fate, some malicious Olympian. Postpone your query. Action’s required. Before we can advance, or die, I suppose, this generator of disaster must be eliminated.”

            “You can’t just eliminate a creation. Especially not when I don’t know who it is. I’m not exactly a capable fighter either while unarmed.” Cheshire laughed, and when he grinned at Ace again, Ace noticed something. There were tiny flecks of red on some of Cheshire’s teeth. Cheshire’s eyes were cold and hard as ice.

            “Use your imagination. It’s proved to be quite proficient at creating chaos.”

            “Mr. Savage…you know who he is.” Cheshire cocked his head and grinned at Ace.

            “What makes you think I know? I can only pretend to know so much.”

            “Damn it Cheshire! I need your help! My mind is betraying me, essentially trying to destroy me, and I have no way of defending myself! What should I do? Rabbit’s trying to send me to the Hatter, but isn’t the Hatter just after what they all want too? I feel like I can trust you, but I don’t know why.”

            “The same way you know my name, I suppose.”

            “You speak like we’ve met before and you seem familiar in a way no one else does.”

            “We’ve brushed shoulders in the past. I don’t expect you to recall.”

            “Then _help me_. Wonderland’s trying to destroy me. There has to be a way out, but I don’t know what to do or how to escape.”

            “Oh there’s only one thing you can really do. Win the Caucus Race.”

            “Win the Caucus Race. Seriously? That won’t help me, Cheshire!”

            “That’s the only way to escape here. Find the location. Find it, and use the key. Oh, and don’t let Mr. Savage get his way or we’re all dead. Or worse.”

            “So I’m to just run away? I don’t really remember it, but I’m pretty sure reality is even worse than Wonderland.”

            “A prudent exit is no less so for being hasty. As for your former reality, you managed to survive it once, didn’t you?”

            “Apparently not. And first I have to survive this Wonderland long enough to escape, but everyone’s out to get me, in a sense.”

            “Of course. Your survival here depends entirely on what you can stomach doing.”

            “I want to be able to defend myself. I hate being powerless.”

            “This place is your mind, Ace. Can’t find a way out? Make one.” Cheshire looked at the sky and his eyes narrowed. “Already the tide is turning. Mr. Savage is doing no less than waging a war on your sanity, Ace. Want some advice? Don’t let him win.”

            “Cheshire, how do I know you? Why are you the only one I’ve recognized in Wonderland?”

            “Are you feigning ineptitude or is your mind in a muddle? I’ve told you before. I don’t answer questions.” Cheshire’s skin began to burn away, like paper when an ember hits it, tiny holes rimmed with glowing orange expanding all over his body, and where he burned away Ace could see through him.

            “Wait, Cheshire! What do I do? Where do I go? I can’t do this on my own and you haven’t answered any of my questions!”

            “Get moving, Ace. Time waits for no one and the change has begun.”

            Cheshire was gone.

* * *

 

In actuality, the forest was no darker than it had been before Ace’s conversation with Cheshire, the light fell in the same golden shafts, the green moss was squishy underfoot, moist with dew or rain. But Ace felt much less safe. He could sense eyes following him, every move he made watched by someone, someone with as of yet unknown benign or malevolent intentions.

Ace was intimidated.

He took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth, but the sound seemed too loud to him, magnified. Throughout the forest he could hear the buzzing of insects, the rustling of movement, and the sighing of the wind through the trees, but the natural sounds did little to calm his accelerated heartbeat. _I wish I had a weapon. Something, anything to fight back with._ Ace’s shoulders were tense and he kept glancing around, looking for threats. _Whoever said ‘ignorance is bliss’ didn’t know how right they were._ Ace passed through a clearing full to bursting of brightly colored wildflowers, but found himself unable to enjoy them, the wafting sweetness making him think of rotting fruit instead of fresh life.

A thicket behind Ace rustled and he whirled around, ready to face whatever he had felt watching him.

It was a mouse. A dormouse, to be exact.

“Hello Ace!” He had a cockney accent, and tipped his miniature bowler hat to Ace as he greeted him.

He was tiny. His fur was white, covering the entirety of his body. He wore a tiny brown jacket with a gold waistcoat, white dress shirt, and red bowtie. Perched jauntily upon his head was a bowler hat, dark brown with a red ribbon. Ace crouched down so they were on more even ground. If the inhabitants of Wonderland were going to play this game with him, he may as well play along while he could and try to figure out who Mr. Savage was before he ended up with a knife in his back.

“Hello, Mouse. How are you?” The mouse crossed his arms, staring up at Ace in annoyance.

“I go by _Dor_ mouse, Ace.” Ace smiled apologetically.

“Right. Of course. Pardon my dreadful memory, Dormouse.”

“Ah well. It ain’t a problem. But you’re lucky it was my name you forgot. Queen would kill you for such a thing.”

“I think the Queen would kill me any chance she got.” The Dormouse burst out laughing.

“ _She?!_ You must have a _death wish_ , Ace.” Dormouse continued to chuckle quietly. “She…” Ace blinked in confusion.

“We’re speaking about the same person, right? The Red Queen. Queen: a female monarch.”

“No, Ace! No, no, no! You got amnesia or what? _Red Queen,_ not _the_ Red Queen. The ruler of Queensland! Mr. Queen! Mr. Red Queen!” Ace’s eyes widened.

“Oh.” Ace turned this fact over in his mind. _Queen’s male. That means he’s a viable candidate for being Mr. Savage._ Ace looked back to Dormouse. “…Don’t tell him I said that, okay?” Dormouse laughed.

“You can count on me, Acey!” Dormouse leaned in, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. “Don’t say such things in front of Rabbit, though. It’s his job as Queen’s servant to defend Queen’s honor. Such things could get you more than just a few hard words.” Ace faked a smile.

“I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

“There’s a good boy. Now come on! We’re running late and Hatter won’t be happy if we miss teatime.” Dormouse scampered past Ace and Ace stood, turning to follow him.

The forest continued for a good while, but eventually the trees grew thinner until they faded out entirely, replaced by rolling hills of grass and the occasional scrappy bush. In the near distance, maybe a quarter of a mile away, Ace could see the Hatter’s mansion.

It was a large building, made of dark brown wood and a shingled roof. The whole thing almost looked like a gigantic coo-coo clock. Speaking of which, a large clock tower was also present, rising almost 100 feet above the building. This, too, seemed designed after a coo-coo clock, the peaked, shingled roof resting above the wide clock face.

As they drew nearer Ace could begin to make out more details of the place like the large windows and the sizeable door, which in and of itself was a wonder.

The door was fairly large, reaching 15 feet at its highest. It was made out of carved wood, the face smooth and uniform. Near the door handle, though, the wood was carved away and a clockwork-like mechanism could be seen, but Ace wasn’t sure what its purpose was.

Ace reached for the handle and pulled it.

The gears in the door began turning and the large wooden door opened itself, swinging back to reveal an elegant hallway. Ace walked forward. The bell of the clock tower began ringing, once, twice, three times, then stopped. Ace looked around, glancing at the sun.

“Is it really 3 o’clock, Dormouse?” Dormouse laughed.

“Oh no, silly! That’s Hatter’s doorbell! The clock rings once for every guest.” Ace blinked.

“3? But there’s only the two of us here.” Dormouse laughed again.

“Hatter keeps other company, you know. I expect the March Hare is here as well.” The name froze Ace’s spine and a memory tried to wriggle out from behind the wall of his forced forgetfulness. Pain. Agonizing pain. Ace tried to force back the memory, push it back down.

“Oh no, don’t do that.” Ace glanced around.

“Cheshire.” First Cheshire’s eyes and grin appeared, then the rest of him followed, becoming whole through a reversal of the process through which he disappeared.

“You’re going to need your memories if you want to stay sane. Recalling reality will help bring you back to it.” His grin, wide as ever, was directed only at Ace, paying no attention to the Dormouse. “Forgetting pain is convenient. Remembering it? Agonizing. But recovering the truth is worth the suffering. Memory is the warden of your brain, Ace. It’s currently underworked.” And he began vanishing again.

“Cheshire, stop!” But he was gone. “Damn it. I wish he’d stop doing that. Hey Dormouse?” Ace glanced around, searching for his diminutive companion. “Dormouse?”

Dormouse was plastered against the wall, eyes wide, clearly terrified. He was staring at where Cheshire had been standing moments before. Ace crouched down, facing him.

“Hey, you okay?” Dormouse swallowed thickly and forced himself to look up at Ace.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m fine. I just- Cheshire just- never mind.” Dormouse shook himself. “Let’s continue.”

The two continued through the manor and Ace actually found himself impressed, if hopelessly lost. The hallways seemed to stretch on for miles, winding and twisting like a labyrinth. At first Ace had tried to keep track of the doors they passed through so he could get out when the time came, but the entanglement of hallways soon defeated him. He knew they had gone up 3 staircases, but come down 4, but as to which ones they were or how to find them again, he had no idea.

Each individual room that they passed through was well furnished, filled with elegantly made sofas, tables, or chairs, and once they passed through what almost seemed like a church. The floors of the hallways were padded with thick, plush red carpet, and antique suits of armor lined the walls, most of which had a window every 10 feet or so.

After who knows _how_ long, Dormouse finally led them to a door. Ace reached to open it, but before he could grasp the handle it was flung wide.

“Welcome, gentlemen! I’ve been expecting you for some time now!” Dormouse walked through the door, and after a moment, Ace followed.

The room was huge. The ceiling soared 75 feet above their heads. The hall was immeasurably long and wonderfully decorated. A chandelier hung above it and candelabras hung from the walls, illuminating the room in the warm glow of candlelight. Thick carpets covered the floor, deep red and nearly soft enough to sleep on. The centerpiece of the room, though, was the table.

It was long, very long. The color of the table itself was unknown as the entirety of it was covered in a single perfectly, purely white tablecloth. Not a single wrinkle could be seen across the entire length, and the whole table was set with beautiful china plates and elegant silverware. Glass vases occasionally stood along its length hosting bouquets of various flowers, giving the table splashes of color. At the end of the table closest to Ace, a beautiful tea set was elegantly placed. The pot was metal, made of delicately shaped silver. The light shone off its beautifully polished surface, and the candlelight almost stained the teapot gold. The cups and saucers were equally graceful, made out of incredibly, almost impossibly thin china. The exterior of the glass had been stained eggshell blue, complementing the light silver of the teapot. The saucers were light grey, like a cloud before a spring rain.

Hatter closed the door and came around to the other side of the table and Ace saw him for the first time.

He was tall, probably six foot one or six two, give or take an inch. He was elegantly dressed, wearing a tailcoat of deep, deep blue, buttoned shut neatly. Beneath it he wore a startlingly white shirt and a black bow tie. He was wearing dress slacks, the same dark blue as his coat, and top hat perched on his head. His head was bowed as he spoke to Dormouse, welcoming him and thanking him for coming. After a moment he lifted his head, turning to Ace.

Marco blanched in shock.

The Hatter _was_ Ace. Not as a 10-year-old, but the Ace that they knew, the 20-year-old member of second division. The same freckles dotted the same cheekbones, the same somewhat wild black hair framed the same forehead, the same hazel-grey eyes shone out of his face with the same flame of energy and vitality. His lips were even pulled into his trademark quirky grin.

“Welcome Ace! How was your trip?” The Hatter extended his hand, which Ace shook.

“It was fine, thanks.”

“The Rabbit told me you mean to visit Queen. Are you really going to?”

“I suppose so. Rabbit says I should and if Queen is an important figure in Wonderland, I should probably build some kind of relationship with him.” The Hatter was stroking his chin.

“That’s true, I suppose…Ah but what am I saying? You must be tired. Please, have a

seat.” Hatter gestured to one of the seats, the one to the right of the head of the table. Ace sat, and Hatter joined him, sitting at the head of the table. Ace looked down the table, searching for Dormouse. He jolted when his eyes caught on a figure.

There was someone in the chair on Ace’s right.

The figure was hunched over in the chair and only about 3 and a half feet tall to begin with. He was curled into a ball, knees tucked tightly to his chest. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, clutching onto something tightly.

It was a dead bird.

The figure was still. Completely, utterly still. The brown fur that covered the head, hands, and rabbit-like ears was matted and unmaintained. The maroon jacket on his shoulders was faded, but other than that still seemed in perfect condition. His chest moved such a small amount with his breathing that it was barely detectable. In front of him was a half-filled teacup resting neatly on its saucer, long cold.

His eyes were the worst, though.

They were wide, unblinking. They stared out, straight forward, focused on something only he could see. The whites around the hazel-grey iris had yellowed from their long-term exposure to air. They were widened to an almost impossible extent, almost perfectly round. He made no sound, no acknowledgment of Ace or anything else in his surroundings.

“Oh don’t mind him. That’s the March Hare. He hardly ever speaks, much less moves. Just ignore him.” Ace looked back to Hatter. Hatter was smiling, just a warm upturn of his lips. Ace glanced back at the March hare.

“What’s wrong with him? Why is he like that?” Hatter chuckled, but the laugh sounded wrong. It was a harsh sound, bordering on manic.

“Oh the hell if I know.” Hatter pouted almost childishly. “It’s made for some very dull tea parties though.” Ace looked at Hatter, mildly alarmed. _Does he not care at all? Hare looks like he’s about to die and he’s more concerned with his tea parties?_

“Now Ace, we should discuss your visit to Red Queen. How soon do you intend to see Queen?” Ace turned away from March Hare and refocused on Hatter. Hatter was currently pouring them both tea. He filled two cups, setting one in front of Ace and the other in front of himself.

“As soon as possible, I think.” Ace glanced down into his cup. The liquid was light translucent brown like most herbal teas. Ace shot a sidelong glance at the half-empty cup in front of the Hare.

“We’re going to have to find you something to wear then, hmm?” Ace looked back to the Hatter and faked a smile.

“Yes. I’m pretty sure when visiting royalty one should wear better than what I’m wearing now.” The Hatter glanced Ace up and down, one hand resting on his chin thoughtfully.

“That is true.” The Hatter glanced at Ace’s teacup. For a moment his smile vanished and his eyes went hard, angry, murderous even. But almost instantly he replaced his smile, looking up at Ace. “You haven’t drunk your tea, Ace. It’s a lovely honeybush, I only got it recently.” Ace shifted in his seat.

“I’m sure it’s lovely, Hatter,” Ace glanced again at the Hare’s cup.  He faked a smile. “But I’ve never been fond of herbal teas.” Hatter sat back in his char.

“A pity, really. If I’d have known I would have served jasmine.” Ace continued to smile.

“It’s no problem. I’m not really thirsty anyway.” Hatter made a noncommittal sound.

“Anyways, as we were saying, yes you will be in need of some new clothes. I can make you some in no time, but there’s one other thing you’re going to need to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Queen won’t accept anyone into his court unless they bring him a gift. If I give you clothes and a gift, Queen will call you a slacker and even minor offences like that end in executions nine hundred and ninety nine times out of one thousand.”

“That’s…kind of a lot. Queen seems…”

“Deranged? Murderous? Psychopathic? The list goes on. It’s kind of strange that you’re visiting him willingly.” Hatter shook his head. “But I digress. As I was saying, I’ll make your clothes, but you’re going to have to get a gift from someone else.”

“Would you mind getting started on the clothes now? I don’t think Rabbit would appreciate my being late.”

“Late to dead. Late to dead. Late to dead. Late to dead.” Ace started and looked over as soon as the Hare had spoke. His eyes were still widened hugely, but now his ears were flattened back against his head. He was rocking back and forth, clutching his dead bird so hard his fingers actually punctured its flesh. “Late to dead. Late to dead. Late to dead. Late to dead.”

“Hare?” Ace called gently to the Hare, but there was no response. Slowly he reached out and placed his hand gently on the Hare’s shoulder.

Instantly the Hare’s head snapped around, his bulging eyes staring at Ace. His hands clenched even further and he ripped the dead bird apart, its entrails and blood staining his coat and hands.

“LATE TO DEAD! LATE TO DE-“ Hatter slammed an open palm down on the wood of the table. At the sound, the Hare jerked and stared at Hatter. Hatter’s face was angry and his voice hard, nearly a snarl.

“ _That’s enough now, Hare_.” Hare stared at him for another moment, then turned back to stare straight ahead, his rocking stopping.

“Late to dead.” It was but a whisper, and when he finished speaking he went back to his former silent stillness. Ace continued to stare at Hare, his own eyes wide. Hatter sighed, shaking his head.

“He’s positively manic. Just leave him alone and don’t mention the ‘L’ word. Anyhow, yes, we can get started on your clothes.” The Hatter looked Ace up and down. “I think light blue will be best. Yes. A light blue dress shirt with white buttons. Black slacks. You’ll look better in simplistic clothes, I think. Nothing extravagant.” Hatter stood and began walking towards one of the doorways. About halfway there he turned back, looking to Ace who was still staring at the Hare with alarm and mild fear. Hatter sighed. “Well come along then, Ace. I’m going to need to take your measurements before we can get started.” Ace looked back to the Hatter.

“Y-Yes.”

 

* * *

 

Ace shifted his shoulders in the new shirt. It was made of light, soft fabric, simply and cleanly cut.

            “There we are. Now that looks nice on you. It was harder to find the right color because you’re so pale. Where have you been the last three weeks? A cave?” Ace forced a laugh. Images flashed through his mind. Bars. Walls. Darkness.

            “Something like that.”

            “Well, in any case, you’re dressed and ready to go. Any ideas for a gift?”

            “No, not really. What does queen like?”

            “What? Besides blood, death, and that bloody crown he wears? Not much…”

            The clock’s bell rung once. Hatter glanced up at the ceiling in the direction of the clock tower.

            “It would seem I have another guest.” Hatter smiled at Ace. “If you’ll excuse me.”

            “Wait! Hatter!” Hatter waved his hand dismissively, already walking towards the door.

            “I can’t help you with the gift. Just…go ask Caterpillar. Try to get his head out of that cloud of smoke first, though. It can’t be good for such young lungs as yours to breathe that stuff all day.”

            “But how do I get out of here?” Hatter sighed in annoyance.

“Just…wander around. You’ll find it eventually.”

“That’s not a very efficient method, Hatter!” Hatter waved his hand, walking through the door.

“Not my problem. Why not ask that cat that’s been following you around?”

“What?” Hatter closed the door behind him. Ace tried to follow him, but the door was locked. Ace looked around the room.

“Damn it all. Cheshire!”

“A called cat never answers. It leaves a message and gets back to you later.” Ace looked around the room, searching for the cat.

“Enough of your irrelevant comments. Do you know a way out of this place?” Ace heard Cheshire sigh.

“How many times must I tell you? I don’t answer questions.” Ace grit his teeth in frustration.

“I have to see Caterpillar.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

“Stop mocking me Cheshire!” Cheshire sighed again.

“A mansion built by the mad. Just…pretend you’re mad. Shouldn’t be hard for you.”

“Still not helpful.”

“If you actually listen to what I say as opposed to getting pissed off about it, maybe it would help you more.”

“Show me the way out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I’ve heard self-reliance is a virtue. Now you’ve heard it. Just pretend you’re an orphan. Oh! That was rude. You are.” _Low blow, Cheshire._ Ace took a deep breath, determined to calm down.

“I know the way out.”

“Yes you do. Remember what I told you? This place is your mind. Can’t find an exit? Make one. Listening is a virtue you should practice more often, Ace.”

“How am I supposed to create an exit, though? It’s not like I consciously created this place!”

“Well, then _consciously_ un-create it. Hatter’ll be pissed there’s a hole in his wall, but it’s his own fault, after all.”

“And I can do that.”

“Yes you can. Just…convince yourself the wall is gone. You’re talented at deluding yourself, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“That wasn’t a very specific process, Cheshire.”

No response.

“Damn that cat. He always leaves when I still have things to say.” _Convince myself the wall is gone, huh?_ Ace stared at the wall, trying to decide the best way of going about that. Ace took a deep breath and shut his eyes. _The room is rectangular. There are two long walls and two short ones. Essentially, it’s your average hallway. It’s quite long, reaching all the way from here to the very edge of the manor. There’s a door at that end of the hallway, a door that leads out into the rest of Wonderland. There are lamps hanging from the ceiling often enough that the room is well lit. The ceiling is approximately 10 feet high. The walls are unadorned stone. The floor is stone as well, but there’s a carpet over it._ Ace wasn’t sure if he was doing this right at all, it felt more like he was just standing in front of a wall like an idiot, wasting his time trying to dream away something so real that there was _no way_ mere will was going to be able to change anything. Ace pushed that thought away. _The carpet is red, not as plush as the carpet in the dining hall, but still of good quality. There’s one stain on it, about halfway down._ Ace felt a tingling beginning in his head, warm and persistent. _The door at the end of the hallway is simple. It’s about six and a half feet tall, and it’s made of wood. The handle is brass and it swings in when opened._ The tingling in his head was growing stronger, weaving into the imagined hallway, expanding it, looking at the little details Ace was imagining. _There’s an old grandfather clock by the doorway. It’s ancient, a real antique, and the wood is faded, but well maintained. It doesn’t work properly anymore and is off by about 2 hours._ The tingling was overpowering, completely embracing the image Ace had created, filling it, weaving through it, and Ace knew, Ace knew _this was it_ and he couldn’t hold it back any more.

The sneeze entirely broke Ace’s train of thought.

Ace sniffed and looked up to see the wall. Standing there. Staring at him. Perfect, unaltered, and entirely, completely, immovably _there._ Ace glared hard at the wall, more angry than frustrated. He shook his head and turned around, walking towards the door, ready to take on the labyrinth of Hatter’s mansion.

“Fuck this.”


	26. Chapter 26

Shanks stared out at the horizon. A thin, coin-silver strip marked where the sun would rise in an hour or so. All around him was the lull of waves, usually enough to put his mind at ease no matter what the situation. Not this morning, though. In truth, he hadn’t slept well at all over the past 4 weeks. Sleep called to him constantly. It wasn’t a struggle to stay awake, though, and when he tried to rest, his sleep was fitful, often interrupted by long bouts of wakefulness. He just…couldn’t relax. No matter what he did, he couldn’t relax. He was too damn pissed to relax. And too damn worried. Shanks took a deep breath, running a hand through his even-more-unkempt-than-usual hair. Four weeks. 27-no, Shanks glanced at the horizon, at the soon-to-rise sun- 28 _endless_ days spent wondering, hoping, _praying_ that Ace was still alive and unharmed. Because that was all he could do. The East Wind had been following the marine ship for _weeks,_ working against unfriendly currents and through unwelcoming winds and, for the last _2,246,400 seconds-_ and Shanks had counted. Oh, Shanks had counted every last fucking _moment_ \- they had been consistently avoided and outmaneuvered by their quarry. Shanks gave a feral grin, bordering on a snarl. Ah, but this, _this_ was the end of his seemingly infinite waiting. And by _God_ if they had harmed so much as _one hair_ on Ace’s head, Shanks was fully prepared to seek and fulfill his vengeance. Tenfold. But guilt trailed after his fury, cooling it. Shanks had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t one he got often, only once or twice before in his entire life, but he knew it well and dreaded it’s possible implications.

Shanks felt like he had broken a promise.

He looked back out at the horizon. The grey was now becoming a washed out gold and he knew the oranges and reds would follow soon after. Shanks studied the horizon, dreaming of and dreading its approach.

Because they were catching up.

Today.

 

* * *

 

“And _how_ , pray tell, am I supposed to fit through there?” Cheshire rolled his eyes at Ace, and Ace realized his mistake. “Oh, right. No questions.”

“Precisely.” Ace sighed.

“It just doesn’t seem possible.” Cheshire shrugged and Ace sighed again, looking out at his current predicament. The Caterpillar’s domain. A truly beautiful structure, but designed for someone much, much smaller than Ace.

It was a building, or grouping of buildings. Well…more than that. It was a city. The amazing thing, though, was that it was all carved on the inside of a large field of quartz crystals.  The tower-like structures rose 10, maybe 12 inches at their very tallest, with squatter buildings ranging from 3-7 inches. The sun- or Wonderland’s approximation of a sun, at any rate- had sunk below the horizon about 20 minutes ago. Vague traces of the sunset’s glory still caressed the horizon, but no more were the golds, ambers, and agates of sunset. The moon had risen, and the brightest stars were already shining vibrantly. Each of the crystals in the field seemed not to absorb the falling light of the moon and stars, but rather to produce their own light from within. The whole field was veritably glowing, pale light reflecting on Ace’s face and skin.

It was beautiful.

Within the crystalline structures, Ace could see carefully formed rooms, delicately and ornately carved decorations and windows. The architecture was nearly gothic, with high, pointed arches and ornate, beautifully, _dreamily_ ornate decorations etched into the crystalline structures. Every detail was precise and delicate and simply awe inspiring in its complexity and perfection. The central tower, the tallest of all the buildings, rose to be maybe 15 inches at its point, and the crystal was carved so finely, so delicately, that Ace daren’t even _breathe_ on it for fear of shattering it.

Tiny streets could be seen between the buildings, cobbled with the same quartz, but it had been frosted, probably hardened in some way. It too seemed effervescent with its own personal light, each stone shining individually. All throughout the city Ace could see tiny figures moving about. With the light emanating from the stones though he couldn’t make out their distinct shape and couldn’t define or describe them. They were seemingly the inhabitants of the tiny city, moving about in the carved terraces and towers with the familiarity born of habitual action.

The fairytale image wasn’t the problem, though.

The problem was that Ace was nearly five feet tall. The city, at its tallest, was maybe 16 inches. And Caterpillar was, presumably, sized to fit comfortably in his own city.

Ace was too big. Much too big.

So he was stuck. He had to get inside, but he had no means of doing so without completely destroying the city and angering or killing Caterpillar in the process. So he was stuck. Ace sighed in frustration. Cheshire chuckled at him.

“Now now. No need to fuss.”

“There must be a way in.” Cheshire continued to grin maniacally.

“Oh of course there is.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“Here’s a tiny riddle for a tiny- well, for _you_.” Cheshire’s grin seemed to widen. “How do you get a camel to fit through the eye of a needle?”

“How is this possibly helpful- oh wait, it _isn’t._ Tell me something _useful_ , Cheshire!” Cheshire only continued to grin silently at him, head slightly tilted to the side. They sat in silence for a few moments, Ace glaring at Cheshire and Cheshire smiling back. Finally Ace broke, running a hand through his hair with an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know. Tell me the answer.” Cheshire cackled his triumph, ignoring Ace’s glare.

“There are a multitude of answers, you couldn’t even come up with one?” Ace continued to glare and Cheshire laughed again. “Well, you could have killed and chopped up the camel into little, needle-shaped pieces. That would have worked, though getting all the pieces through the needle would be frustrating after a while. You could say the needle’s eye is as big as a camel, and thus the camel just passes through. This isn’t really that fitting in the situation though, is it? Oh dear. It would seem I’ve gotten off topic.”

“Cheshire. If you’re going to babble, at least babble about something pertinent to the current problem!” Cheshire only laughed again. Ace was getting annoyed at his mocking, already frustrated by his inability to progress into the city and _damn pissed off_ after how long it had taken him to get out of Hatter’s mansion.

“Very well. Here’s an answer pertinent to the situation.” Cheshire began to disappear, fading quickly away. His grin became harder, more menacing. “You put a pack of hyenas behind the camel and leave the needle as the only possible escape. Advance or die, Ace. Mr. Savage grows impatient.” He faded out entirely.

Ace swallowed and looked about the clearing warily. Nighttime sounds filled the air, the crickets’ gentle wails, the breeze sighing through the grass and trees, the rustling of underbrush as the nocturnal inhabitants made their rounds. The sounds both eased him and put him on edge. Because the animals were making noise, he could assume there was nothing in the area that was out of the ordinary or else they all would have shut up. On the contrary, the noises could possibly be masking other sounds, _subtler_ sounds, like the footsteps of someone who’s trying hard to be quiet, or the whoosh of a projectile. The visibility, too, was low. Fog seemed to wind around everything, concealing much and making Ace imagine things in its folding depths that just weren’t there. It smelled different, too. Not like ordinary fog which smells like water and cold, but something much more…indefinite. Ethereal. It smelled like dreams and a star’s lullaby, and Ace found he enjoyed the scent. It was smooth like quiet, back-street jazz heard from a block away, caressing him, drawing him in, whispering dares to dream and to drink in and to _breathe._

_ Hello. _

Ace jumped about a foot in the air, staring around the area. _What the hell was that?_

 _Me._ Ace blinked in surprise, eyebrows furrowing. He looked around tentatively, but saw nothing different.

_…Can you hear me?_

_But of course._ The words glowed in his mind, a soothing white light similar to that of the crystal city before him but different. Slightly…silver. Like moonlit white smoke. The voice was calm. Well…it wasn’t really a _voice._ The words just formed themselves in his head like his own thoughts.

_Who are you? How is this possible? Why are you speaking to me?_

_ Because I think it’s rude to leave a guest standing at my front door without going to greet him. _

_…Are you Caterpillar?_

Ace sensed mirth, and let out an involuntary chuckle as emotion swept into his mind in the same silver glow as the words. _Very good._

_If I’m your guest, how do I get inside?_

_…Close your eyes, Ace._ Ace found his eyes shutting gently with no order sent from his brain telling them to do so. The Caterpillar seemed to draw in a deep breath, and Ace found himself doing the same automatically. It exhaled slowly, Ace again involuntarily mirroring the action. _Now relax. Breathe. Taste the starlight, smell the whisper-sung secrets of smoke and dark. Breathe._ Ace felt all tension draining out of him, breathing deeply in time with the Caterpillar’s request. _Touch the moonlight, hear the crystal structure of my home. Breathe._ Ace felt more relaxed than he could ever remember being in his life. His mind felt suspended, floating gently through his senses, tasting quiet jazz and hearing the dark, the smoke, the blackness between stars. His mind was wandering somewhere among those stars. He was so beyond calm. He just… _existed_ and there was nothing else besides that. He couldn’t form thoughts, didn’t even try. Emotions fell away too, and Ace felt as if his very core were open to the night air. All his walls had fallen. He was just Ace. No more, no less. He may as well have been inside his mother’s womb again for all the complexity of his current state of mind. _That’s right, Ace. Breathe. Relax._ Ace’s head tilted slowly back and he exhaled through his mouth, a quiet whoosh of airdarksmoke leaving his lungs.

He opened his eyes.

The crystalline city loomed large overhead, seemingly carved of starlight. Up close it was even more ornate and delicate than it had looked from afar, yet it was not surprising to Ace. Beautiful, yes, but it just _was_ just as he just _was_. The airdarksmoke pervaded down here as well, but the wispy curls only enhanced the city’s beauty, giving it just a touch of mystery, of the unknown. The light of the city mingled with the smoke, coloring it the same shade as Caterpillar’s voice had been. Ace cocked his head slowly to the side. The movement was lethargic and smooth, almost drowsy.

 _Well, come in._ Ace took another deep breath of the airdarksmoke and took a step onto the illuminated cobblestones. His movements, his thinking, everything was slowed by the airdarksmoke. And why hurry? The world just was, it would continue to simply exist forever. Or for a very long time, at least.

Ace continued to meander down random streets in the shining city and why not? Caterpillar was patient. There was no rush. No need to rush. The cystallight around him shone, illuminating his way even though he was currently in more of a back alley.

 _I wonder where the people that live here are?_ The thought formed sluggishly in his mind, pulling itself up from the depths of the airdarksmoke and presenting itself vaguely.

Ace continued walking, movements as slow and smooth as the wafting airy smoke around him. The alleyway in front of him curved gently, the bend as smooth and languid as his own movements. As he finished coming around the bend, he could see that the alley he was in came to an end, opening up onto one of the larger streets. Ace walked out onto the main street and turned slowly left, dimly thinking he should head towards the center of the city. He stopped and blinked somnolently.

There was a figure standing in front of Ace, maybe 10 feet away.

It was tall, almost twice as tall as Ace. White, almost translucent skin covered a slim, elegant body. It was almost humanoid in shape, upright with a mostly human frame. But it was much, much slimmer. More elegant. It had a very long neck, light grayish in color, and its head was rounder and smaller than a human’s of the same size would be. The torso was essentially human but again thinner. It didn’t seem unhealthy for its thinness, but rather that it was supposed to be that way. The torso was somewhat elongated, but it didn’t look distorted at all. Its legs were very nonhuman, though, seeming almost boneless. They trailed down from the torso into gentle points, and there was no foot attached. The point of each leg seemed to be what the creature was standing on, but as Ace looked closer he observed that the creature was not actually standing on the stones of the road, but rather floating above it by a marginal amount. The creature’s arms were thin and elegant, much, much longer than a human’s arms. They seemed to be built on the same principles as human arms, though, the shoulder, elbow, and wrist all looking like that of a human but slimmed down. The arms were so long that the creature’s hands hung at rest a little below the creature’s knees. The hands themselves were based on the same elegant design, slim and delicate. Each hand had only two fingers and an opposed thumb. The fingers and thumb were also elongated and delicate, but had the same joint structure as that of a human.

The creature’s head was more rounded than a human’s, and it was entirely hairless, having no eyebrows, eyelashes, or any hair at all on its bare scalp. The creature had no nose, and no apparent mouth that Ace could see.

Its eyes fascinated Ace the most, though.

The eyes were large, very large, occupying most of the front of the creature’s head. They were dark, nearly black, and fascinatingly contrasted the white skin. There was no pupil or iris, the entire eye rather just being that one deep, unending black. They did have some light to them, though, like a tiny, invisibly distant star.

Ace had approached the creature and now stood directly in front of it, staring up at it wonderingly. The creature too was studying him closely, seemingly fascinated by him, and the two regarded each other silently. Ace stared into its eyes and it stared back, both unhurriedly curious of the other.

After another moment of silent wonder, the creature slowly, elegantly lifted its slim hand. Ace continued to stare into its eyes, unthreatened. Dimly he realized he could actually feel the creature’s mind interacting with his own. Its mind worked differently than his, not forming thoughts in a way that humans think of thoughts. He knew it was sentient, but no words were present in its brain. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was thinking but he knew it wouldn’t harm him. He could sense its lethargic interest in him, very similar to his own curiosity about it, and he could tell it wouldn’t hurt him.

The creature’s hand came up and gently, almost hesitantly, touched Ace’s face. Its slim fingers were cool, the white skin smooth and hairless. The creature gently cocked its head, and its hand continued to explore Ace’s face.

The cool, elegant fingers smoothed gently over his cheek, then his nose, and caressed over his lips before coming to rest below his right eye. Ace could feel a deep, quiet thoughtfulness in the creature, and after a moment it lifted its hand up to its own face, seemingly exploring its own features like it had explored Ace’s. Its hand came to rest over the place where its mouth should have been, and Ace could feel it thinking gently. It blinked slowly, eyes closing for a little over 2 seconds, and then pulled its hand away.

Thin lips, light grey in color, now parted the creature’s face elegantly.

The creature looked down at Ace, and Ace could feel a somnolent mix of happiness and mild gratitude. The creature’s mind…well, sung would be the wrong word, but it produced a gentle tone, almost like a bell, but quieter, without the harsh clanging of real noise.  The sound was purer than any noise reality could ever produce, and it had a deeper musical quality to it than one note should ever possibly have.

The creature turned and began to walk slowly away.

Ace stared after it wonderingly. As the creature walked, its feet remained just a little above the ground, yet it seemed to walk like a human. Every time one of its feet came to rest in a step, the stone below the creature’s foot would glow brighter. The airdarksmoke that filled the city seemed to wrap around the creature, caressing it and welcoming it. When it was about 30 feet away, it turned, looking back to Ace. Its mind made the pure noise again, and it stood there, staring at him. Waiting.

Ace blinked indolently.

It was waiting for him. He was supposed to follow it. He tried to form a thought, but realized this wasn’t a place of thought. Thought wasn’t necessary here. Relaxation and airdarksmoke. That was this place. Ace exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. A quiet bong thrummed dimly through their shared mind space, complimenting the creature’s first note.

The creature replied with a warm third note, completing the chord. It turned and began slowly floatwalking away, down the main road. Ace inhaled deeply, airdarksmoke filling his lungs, soothing his mind, relaxing his thoughts.

He followed.


	27. Chapter 27

The creature in front of Ace was walking at a comfortable, dreamy pace, and Ace had no problems keeping even with it. As they passed through the city he was dimly aware of other creatures like the one he was following watching his progress through the crystal windows of the city.

As they walked, the creature would occasionally make the pleasant, pure mind-notes it had made before, and Ace would respond in kind. They never made anything as complex as a melody, but from the pitch of the tone and the emotions that accompanied them, Ace could understand essentially what the creature was trying to express to him. It seemed to be making small-talk with him, the notes being gentle with no overpowering emotions accompanying them, blipping from the creature’s mind fairly quickly, with Ace responding whenever it trailed off in their semi-language’s form of a question.

Ace’s mind began to grow used to this form of communication, and with the airdarksmoke lulling his brain into its completely relaxed, open state he began to forget what formal thought looked like.

As the creatures watched him from their places at the crystal city’s windows, Ace could occasionally feel rings similar to the ones from the creature in front of him emanating from their minds. The whole city was alive with the bell-like tones, and each one bore the same pure sound and somehow completely and perfectly fit with the city, with the stars, with the curling haze. Ace’s mind reveled in the combination of senses, the gentle aromas, the crystalline, fragile sights and textures, and the pure, instinctively perfect tones. If his mind were currently capable of the thought, he would have considered this place to be heaven. Such thoughts, though, the airdarksmoke whispered, were too much, too overbearing. Why bother with things like the future or the past? Just _relax,_ just breathe, just experience.

They drew up to the central tower, the tallest structure of the city, and the creature stopped next to an opening, a pointed archway, at the building’s base. It created a thrumming chord of several successive tones, and Ace replied by absently completing the harmony. The creature continued to stand there, staring at him. Watching him. That vague, sleepy curiosity was back, Ace could feel it in the creature’s mind.

Ace realized dimly, unconcernedly, that with his currently open mind, the creature could see into him. It was studying his memories, peering through his life. It paused on a specific moment.

Ace was only 3 years old. He was playing in the house’s backyard, and on the porch sat a woman. She was fairly tall, with dark brown hair and only marginally lighter eyes. She had a wide, open face with plenty of room for the frequent smiles that graced her features. Her eyes held constant warmth and a delicate nose hung just above her smiling mouth.

She was fairly thin, but not scrawny. She was wearing an orange and red sundress and a wide brimmed straw garden hat. She was watching Ace with true joy in her eyes, honestly finding happiness in his youth and vitality. After a moment of Ace rummaging around in the grass, he came running back up to the porch, hands carefully closed around something.

As he drew nearer, Monkey D. Sophie leaned forward in her chair, smiling at him.

“What do you have there, Ace?” Ace grinned up at her, and opened his hands.

“Look at what I found!” Crawling across his left palm was a fuzzy, fat blue caterpillar. Sophie’s smile widened and she looked between Ace’s grinning face and the caterpillar, faking complete astonishment.

“Wow, Ace! That’s really amazing!” Ace beamed at her, openly proud of himself in the unguarded way of youth. “Can I hold it?” Ace’s grin looked like it was about to split his face in half.

“Sure!” Sophie lowered the first digit of her right hand to his palm and the caterpillar heaved its chubby length onto her finger. Slowly she raised the finger close to her face, studying the fuzzy blue insect closely. After a moment she looked back to Ace, wide smile on her face.

“Do you know where butterflies come from, Ace?” Ace looked at her with wide eyes for a moment, then seemed to consider the question deeply. His little eyebrows furrowed as he tried to puzzle it out, but after a moment he turned to Sophie and shook his head. Sophie lowered the caterpillar so it was between the two of them, at Ace’s eye level.

“Butterflies come from caterpillars just like this one.” Ace looked up at her, complete bewilderment on his face. That chubby blue insect wasn’t a butterfly. Butterflies had wings and black bodies, and they most assuredly weren’t that fat.

“What? That can’t be right. That isn’t a butterfly!” Sophie chuckled and rotated her hand so the caterpillar crawled onto her palm.

“No, it is right. In the springtime, all the caterpillars come out of eggs that were laid last year. At first they’re very, very tiny, no bigger than the nail on your pinky.” Ace was staring at her, focusing on every word she said. It was an amusing habit he had. Whenever he was being taught something, anything, he would focus completely and utterly on the person teaching it to him, completely intent on perfectly absorbing whatever it was he was being taught. “Now as soon as the caterpillars hatch, they’re very, very hungry. They start eating almost as soon as they’re born, eating the leaves off of plants.” Ace blinked.

“That isn’t very nice! Doesn’t that hurt the plants?” Sophie smiled gently.

“Yes, but the caterpillars need to eat. The plants can grow back their leaves, and I’m sure they’re more than willing to share a few extra with the caterpillars.” Ace’s brows were furrowed.

“It still doesn’t seem very fair to me…” Sophie giggled quietly.

“The caterpillars return the favor later, though.” Ace blinked at her, shocked again.

“Really? How?”

“Well, once the caterpillar has eaten a bunch of leaves, it gets very, very fat like this one. When that happens, the caterpillar finds a nice place to build its house. You’ve seen caterpillar houses before. They build them hanging off the underside of sticks and low branches. The caterpillar builds its house all around itself, then spends about 2 weeks all wrapped up inside its house.” Ace had resumed his intent concentration, but kept glancing between the caterpillar and Sophie as if unsure which to focus on. “During this time, the caterpillar is changing how it looks. Its body becomes slimmer and its legs grow and, most importantly, it grows _wings_.” Ace was looking between the caterpillar and Sophie in complete awe. “Eventually, though, the caterpillar’s old house is too small for its new form, so it leaves. When it comes out, though, it isn’t a caterpillar anymore. Its new shape is a butterfly.” Sophie was fairly sure Ace’s jaw was going to drop open at any second now. “And now that it's a butterfly, it goes around and repays all the flowers that fed it by helping them make their seeds.”

“Oh so _that’s_ how it pays back the favor!” Sophie smiled and nodded. She grinned inwardly. She knew just what last fact to finish this off with. If there was one thing that was sure to interest Ace…

“And there’s a big, fancy word for the whole process of the caterpillar turning into a butterfly while it’s inside its house.” Ace looked up at her with wide, excited eyes.

“Really? What is it?” His eyes were practically shining with delight, and Sophie looked into his eyes, faking a serious face.

“It’s called holometabolism.” She said the word slowly, and Ace’s eyes were locked on hers, focusing deeply on the word so he could repeat it correctly. He mouthed the words a few times to himself, then spoke experimentally.

“Halamobatilism.” Sophie blinked. She smiled at him kindly.

“Not…quite.” Ace scrunched his eyebrows in deep concentration.

“Holomabettelism.”

“You’re really, really close.” She said encouragingly. Again Ace paused and thought deeply.

He swallowed, planning out each syllable.

“Holomebatolism.” Sophie smiled at him kindly, laughing internally.

“…Close enough.”

The creature in Ace’s mind froze on that particular image. It seemed surprised, studying the image. Ace didn’t know exactly what it was looking at until he looked into its mind, at what it was currently experiencing.

The creature’s attention was focused solely on the image of the blue caterpillar, the image seeming enlarged from the creature’s attention to it. It studied the image for a moment longer, then turned back, directing its attention at Ace.

It presented the image of the blue caterpillar along with a series of tones and thoughtful, somewhat positive emotions. Slowly it raised one of its long, elegant arms and pointed up at the top of the tower, again presenting the image of the blue caterpillar. Ace blinked, then looked up at the top of the tower. The structure rose high above his head, shining in the light of the surrounding buildings as well as its own light. The top of the tower was something of a terrace, an open floor with no walls and a roof supported by pillars. It was from here that the airdarksmoke that filled the city and surrounding area was billowing. It flowed out in quiet, unassuming curls and folds and spread out, dispersing all over the surrounding area.

Ace turned his gaze from the top of the tower back to the entranceway that he was currently standing at. He looked thoughtfully at the entranceway of the building, then took his first steps inside.

The interior of the building was as ornate and delicate as the outside, carved decorations littering the walls. For all its complex decorations, the building was relatively simple, the only apparent room being the one he was currently in. The floor was smooth, made of a single shining crystal. A fountain murmured quietly from the center of the room, clear, clean water bubbling out of the gracefully formed piece.

Ace could fathom no way of climbing the tower.

 _Congratulations on making it here, Ace._ Ace looked around, not really expecting to find the source of the voice but looking around anyways. He wanted to respond, but could not remember how to form worded thoughts. Language had faded from his brain, suspended in its cloud of airdarksmoke. Ace could feel Caterpillar’s mild, lethargic amusement at his predicament.

 _Are you here to see me?_ Ace, again unable to remember how to form complex thought, simply nodded his head. Caterpillar thought-laughed. Ace realized for the first time in a while that he was displeased. That emotion didn’t sit well with the airdarksmoke, and it tried to swallow the feeling out of his mind, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Ace didn’t like Caterpillar laughing at him.

The dislike pushed back the airdarksmoke a ways, and Ace felt marginally more aware than he had been for the past…however long he had been in the city. Ace realized he didn’t remember, couldn’t remember, how long he had been here. Time didn’t apply to airdarksmoke, and this crystalline fairytale was ruled by it.

 _Caterpillar I want to see you. How do I get up to where you are?_ Ace could feel Caterpillar’s surprise and realized Caterpillar hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Ace to be _thinking_. A moment later, the emotion was pulled from their shared mindspace, replaced by the same lethargic warmth.

_ The same way you came into my city. _

Ace considered this. He didn’t want to lose his thoughts to the airdarksmoke again, but he needed to see Caterpillar. Ace sighed. Necessity trumped desire and he _needed_ to see Caterpillar.

Ace slowly closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, taking several deep breaths. Instantly the airdarksmoke was back, swallowing thought, any negative emotion, and once more completely opening his mind to everything and anything this place had to offer. Ace felt his previous distaste for Caterpillar’s laughing get completely drowned out by the inescapable relaxation. Ace found himself taking several more deep breaths, and the airdarksmoke pushed still further through his mind, clouding over his memories and…something else. It was covering something else, too. Distantly, barely detectable through the haze of airdarksmoke, Ace felt something. It was like…like…like there was something prodding his mind, perusing through it, embedding itself in it. As soon as Ace realized this, though, he forgot it. **_That thought’s not allowed._** The airdarksmoke seemed to hum through his brain. The sensation was now completely blocked from his mind, veiled from him by the curtain of airdarksmoke.

All of his previous defiance and distaste had been completely washed from him, and he was once more mindless, thoughtless, and, in conversations with Caterpillar, mute. He was not deaf or blind though. The airdarksmoke couldn’t swallow those.

 _Open your eyes, Ace. Come in._ Slowly Ace’s eyelids rose as per Caterpillar’s request. The room was different. Now before him was a very long hallway. Ace glanced behind him and saw he was standing on a ledge, a balcony of sorts, and far, far below him was the crystal fountain and plaza of the ground floor of the tower. Ace looked back to the hallway. Looking at it brought dim, nearly undetectable confusion to his mind, but he couldn’t think. The hallway…something was wrong about it. It shouldn’t be here, or at least shouldn’t be this long. The tower’s top would have had some kind of protrusion if there had been a hallway like this, yet as Ace scanned through his memories he could not remember ever seeing one. **_Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird._** The airdarksmoke seemed to sing through his mind, gently taking the memory from under his scrutiny as one might take an object from a small child. The airdarksmoke once again swallowed into his mind, and his confusion at the hallway faded. Ace looked up and studied the hallway again. He cocked his head gently to the side. He was supposed to do…something. Someone had asked him to do something.

 _Come in, Ace._ Ace heard Caterpillar’s voice and instantly began walking forward. He was completely unafraid, unconcerned, uncaring of what lay down this hallway. He _had_ to follow Caterpillar’s request, though. Caterpillar had asked him to do something and that was all that mattered, he could not disobey.

The hallway was different from everything else in the city in that it did not glow. The structure of the crystals that formed it was as delicate as it was fascinating. Threads of woven crystalglass formed the entire hallway, walls, floor, and ceiling. The hallway was perfectly round, and there was never a break in the pattern, no doors or other interruptions on the walls. As Ace walked the hallway continued to get darker and darker, the light of the tower behind them being swallowed by the length of the hallway.

Again Ace’s mind faintly rebelled. He shouldn’t just be going down this hallway alone with no idea what lay on the other side. He didn’t even know if Caterpillar was friendly or not. For all he knew, Caterpillar could be Mr. Savage. **_If that mocking bird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring._** Once more his current train of thought was pulled from his unresisting grasp and he faded into the quite complacent state of the airdarksmoke.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, only getting darker and darker as Ace walked. The light of the tower no long glittered off the delicate walls and floors, not enough of it got this far into the tunnel. Ace glanced briefly over his shoulder and saw the entrance to the hallway shining like a star. Indeed, Ace felt like it was a star. He felt like he was walking through the vast, magnificently unending darkness of space, wandering forever among the cosmos. He would pass Sirius soon, the bright dog-star, and after that Orion. Time for him would pass as it did in the stars, near immeasurable, the only unit of time being the birth, life, and death of new stars, new galaxies, new worlds. Either that, or…

Or he was sinking in the ocean, also vastly immeasurable, watching the sunlight fade forever behind him. The pressure of the water would crush down on him soon, pulverizing him. He’d run out of air soon, too, swallowing great gulps of salty death wishing only to see the light of that distant sun once more, wishing to taste the scent of flowers again. He’d freeze as well, the cold, dark, unyielding water purveying throughout his body, swallowing the tiny warmth he could offer it. **_If that diamond ring turns brass, Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass._** Once again the airdarksmoke pulled away his train of thought, shushing him gently. Of course he wasn’t going to die. Of course not. **_Mama’s_** gonna make it _all_ better.

Ace continued down the hallway, thoughts and words and worries and memories all pulled away from him. The darkness began to grow darker still, yet Ace couldn’t worry anymore, survival instinct wasn’t included in airdarksmoke.

After an undecided, uncountable time, Ace was certain he would either find the end of the hallway or be lost forever in this immaculate darkness. Behind him, the entrance to the tunnel was no more than a pinpoint of light, distant and nearly invisible. It was now so dark that if Ace raised his hand he couldn’t see it, even if it was mere inches from his face. **_If that looking glass gets broke, Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat._**

The light in the hallway began growing so slowly that Ace didn’t even realize what was going on until he could see again. He had sunk into a kind of daze, unaware of even his own body in that unending dark, but jolted once he realized the dark had left.

He looked up, studying his surroundings blearily.

The airdarksmoke was still present, curling and folding wisps of it completely surrounding him. The hallway was no more. He was on a perfectly flat, seemingly endless plane. The ground or floor seemed to be made of one piece of crystal, perfectly cut and completely opaque. Around him he could see no sign of walls or any kind of end to the massive space, and above him he could find no ceiling. The airdarksmoke obscured his vision, and he got the sense he couldn’t see that far, but had no means of verifying exactly how far he could see. **_And if that billy goat won’t pull, Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and a bull._**

“Hello, Ace.” Ace looked around again, searching for the source of the voice. It was inherently familiar to him, yet the airdarksmoke in his mind prevented him from pulling out the memory. He remembered…singing, though. And a smell like vanilla and sunlight. He could see no one and the voice sounded like it was coming from all around him, not from any specific direction. Ace heard footsteps approaching and remained where he was, waiting. He felt concern nip at him momentarily before it was tugged away and swallowed by the curling folds of airdarksmoke. **_If that cart and bull turn over, Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover._**

A figure stepped gracefully out of the mist.

She was fairly tall, and wearing a dress that looked as if it had been cut from a summer horizon. Light brown hair fell to her waist, and large eyes, and a delicate nose. Freckles painted her cheeks, and her mouth was pulled into a gentle, quiet smile. She came to stand directly in front of Ace and reached out, gently brushing some stray hair off his forehead. Ace blinked at her slowly.

“Hello niño. Are you happy to see me?” Ace blinked slowly. Something was wrong with the words. Something unfamiliar in a familiar voice. **_And if that dog named Rover won’t bark, Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and a cart._**

“I’m so glad you made it here! Sorry about the long walk. I had one of my estrella guide you to this place.” Again Ace blinked at her. Confusion, mild and nearly drowned out by the airdarksmoke washed his mind. A moment later, though, the airdarksmoke was back, relaxing him, relieving him of worry and concern and hesitation. **_And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the_ sweetest _little baby in town._** His mother was here. Why wasn’t he smiling? Hadn’t he always dreamed of meeting the woman who gave her life for him? The confusion was completely drowned now, and he smiled up at her happily. Complacently. She crouched down so she was at his level and took him into her arms, embracing him for a moment before pulling back and studying his face.

“You’ve worked so hard, haven’t you? Did they scare you? Does the Caucus Race scare you?” Ace found himself nodding. Every word out of her mouth was the truth, _must be_ the truth. She was always right, she never lied, every word she said was complete and utter fact, immutable and irrefutable. She smiled kindly at him.

“Do you want me to make that all go away, Ace? I can protect you from everything out there. I can keep you safe. I’ll love you, I’ll watch over you, I’ll guard you and guide you. Do you want that?” She was perfect. Everything she did, everything she said was perfect. She had no faults, no cracks, and _every word she said_ was truth. Of course he wanted that, _she said_ he wanted that and she knew everything.

Ace nodded again.

She continued to smile at him, remaining crouched down so they were eye to eye. After he nodded, she lowered herself so she was kneeling on the ground, looking right at him.

“There’s one little thing I need from you first, Ace.” His eyes were locked on hers, and he continued to smile. She kept looking into his eyes and he couldn’t look away.

“Just one little thing, Ace. Then you can be here, with me, always. Always. I’ll love you and I’ll be with you forever. Just that one little thing.” Yes. Yes. He wanted this, he wanted to be here. All she asked was a trivial favor in return. The price was nothing compared to the perfection of the promised future. Just that one little thing and he would be here with her forever and everlastingly and perpetually _here with her._ And she was smiling at him warmly, her eyes locked on his, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. Where was the harm in doing what she asked? There was no harm, only gain.

Ace reached into his left pocket.

****

* * *

**You forgot, didn’t you, Ace? There’s only one thing in the world that can last forever. Caterpillar’s ‘love’, the Caucus Race, Wonderland itself, even _you_ creator dear. None of this, none of us, will persist forever.** He began humming to himself. Pondering the facts. Life, death, his inevitable victory, all crossed his mind, but he discarded them as boring. Life was boring. Death was unavoidable. His victory, imminent. So what to do? What to entertain himself with? He stood and walked slowly forward. He paused after a moment and chuckled quietly to himself.

**…Hush little baby, don’t you cry, ‘cause then the monsters come out, and then you’ll die.**


	28. Chapter 28

Ace’s hand closed around it. He began to slowly pull it from his pocket, the movement calm and even. She was staring into his eyes with such intensity that it bordered on a glare. His hand was now clear of the rim of his pocket and one of her hands moved to intercept his. Her eyes darted down to his hand for a moment, but when he did not open his fist, she turned her gaze back to his. She smiled at him.

            “Just give that here, Ace. Then you can stay here forever. With me forever. Isn’t that what you want?” Ace looked down, quiet for a moment. A grin crossed his features, then he laughed for a moment. She was staring at him, openly confused. Ace’s laughter cut off abruptly and he looked back into her eyes.

            “Well played, Caterpillar. But it’s figlio or bambino, not niño.” Ace was glaring now.

“My mother spoke Italian, not Spanish.”

Ace lashed out with his left hand, aiming to hit her hard enough in the head or face to at least stun her for a moment. His hand was moving fast enough, and his aim was perfect. His hand, now just millimeters from her perfect jaw, wasn’t moving fast enough to knock her out, he didn’t have the arm strength to knock out a fully grown woman from this position, but the blow would be enough to stun her for a moment or two, enough time for Ace to hopefully find some way to gain more of an advantage over the situation. He waited for that sensation, the pain in his hand, her noise of surprise, the hardness of her bone beneath his hand.

None came.

His hand went clear through her head like it didn’t exist.

Ace stared at her, completely shocked for a moment. The image of her reformed itself like his hand hadn’t passed through it, and her whole image glitched, parts of it momentarily shifting harshly sideways before reforming itself. She stood and glared down at him.

“That wasn’t very nice, _Ace.”_ The Caterpillar still spoke in Rouge’s voice, but it was an ugly sound, a snarl of anger. Her face was contorted into a grimace of rage, and the expression didn’t suit her features. Ace stumbled back, shocked by the expression and voice. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Caterpillar to be pissed it was just…seeing that on _her_ face…it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. Her face had always been one of compassion and kindness. Neither was present now.

The Caterpillar’s image of Rouge moved with blinding speed, moving towards Ace faster than any human should be able to move. Ace threw himself to the side, automatically rolling around behind her and trying to throw a punch at the softer regions of her back. She spun with inhuman speed and grabbed his wrist. Her grip was like iron and so tight he felt his bones creak under the strain. He was confused, though. Shouldn’t his wrist have just passed right through her hand?

_ It’s my domain we’re in. You play by  _ ** my ** _ rules here, Ace. _

The image of Rouge lifted his wrist above his head slowly. He tried to remain standing, first straightening his knees as far as they would go, then rising up on tiptoe, but she kept raising him up until he was hanging from his arm, her grip around his wrist keeping him immobile and helplessly dangling in the air. She used only one hand to support his full weight, the other hanging loosely by her side. She was staring at him blankly, her face devoid of emotion.

 _Now, Ace. Give me that key._ Ace tried to writhe out of not-Rouge’s grip, but she held his arm firmly, and suspended as he was in the air, he couldn’t exactly pull against her. He tried kicking her, but each time his feet just phased through her body. She continued staring at him with that blank expression, soulless eyes staring right through him.

_ I said  _ NOW.

“Never!” Ace could feel Caterpillar’s anger, and almost instantly not-Rouge’s face contorted into its grimace of rage once again. Her free hand rose slowly, then abruptly moved.

She slapped him. Hard.

His whole head was turned with the force of the blow, and he let out a small, involuntary cry of pain. His cheek smarted from the blow. He was certain a clear, red handprint would develop soon.

Ace looked down into not-Rouge’s face, but it had gone dead again, devoid of emotion. Ace felt tears prick at his eyes, and tried to dismiss them as ridiculous. This wasn’t his mother. It wasn’t her. She would…His _real_ mother would _never_ hit him.

So why did he feel like crying?

 _It’s just the drug. It’s still in your system and it’s making you susceptible to Caterpillar’s trickery._ Ace squeezed his eyes shut, trying to convince himself it was truth. _Your real mother loves you. She died for you._

“No I didn’t.” Ace’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at the woman holding him. She was looking at him with utter disgust. “I wasn’t given any _choice._ The marines killed me. I was shot twice. Once through the shoulder, and again through the stomach. I bled out on the shore of some God-forsaken spit of _rock_ because they thought I was pregnant with you. I’d given birth to you two months before, but they didn’t know, so they killed me just to be sure.” Her face was a snarl of anger and disgust, and Ace felt his heart crack. She continued on mercilessly. “That bastard Garp saved you.” She snorted. “What a damn mistake that was. I never would have died if it hadn’t been for you.” Ace was staring at her, eyes wide. “I slept with your father because I loved him, but I never counted on _you_ showing up. I never thought that one mistake could lead to the single biggest regret of my life.” Ace felt tears in his eyes, but couldn’t care less how weak he looked. She snarled at him, eyes full of anger and resentment.

“I wish you’d _never_ been born and I’ll never, _never_ love you.”

Ace felt the tears on his cheeks, but could do nothing but stare at her with shock and hurt. Her glare didn’t lessen or break, and after a moment he turned his eyes away. She released his wrist and he collapsed to the ground, crumpling as he hit it. He ended up laying on his side, too shocked, too hurt, and too broken to move or resist. She kicked him once, hard, in the stomach.

“The key. _Now._ ” She crouched down and looked him in the eye, gaze still hard as granite. Ace couldn’t even bring himself to move, and after a moment she gave hiss of frustration, turning towards his still-closed left hand.

“You better get the _hell_ away from _my son_ before I tear you apart.” The Caterpillar’s Rouge had only just begun to lift her head when she went flying over Ace’s still body, coming to rest a few feet behind him. Ace sat up, looking around. He blinked in surprise and confusion.

There were two of them.

One of the Rouges was laying on the ground on her back, and the other was straddling her, pinning her to the ground.  The Rouge on the bottom lifted one hand and punched the Rouge on top across the face, her own face a livid mask of rage. The Rouge on top recoiled from the blow, but did not allow herself to be knocked off the Rouge on the bottom. The Rouge on top tried to hit the Rouge beneath her, but just as with Ace, her hand passed right through the bottom Rouge’s face. She blinked in surprise, then narrowed her eyes at the Rouge on bottom.

“Two can play at that game, puttana.” Rouge on bottom reached up, clearly intent on punching the Rouge on top again, but her hand passed through top-Rouge’s face. Bottom Rouge tried to buck top Rouge off of her, but top Rouge would not be unseated. The Rouge on bottom shrieked with frustration, and the Rouge on top smirked down at her victoriously. The bottom Rouge tried to writhe out from under the top Rouge, but once more the top Rouge refused to release her. Top Rouge darted out, seizing both wrists of bottom Rouge and pinning them to the ground. Top Rouge turned her head and grinned at Ace, panting lightly with exertion.

“Get out of here, sweetheart. Mother’s just got to deal with a little _issue._ ” Ace had gotten to his feet and been staring confusedly at the identical pair. At Rouge’s words he blinked, coming back to his senses.

“What?” Top Rouge gave an ‘oof’ as bottom Rouge headbutted her in the stomach, but as ever refused to release the other Rouge from beneath her. The Rouge beneath her was snarling and writhing like a pinned panther, spitting insults and trying to get free. Top Rouge seemed to give up and raised both hands above her head wielding a…frying pan?

CLUNG

The strangeness of the weapon had no effect on its usefulness, and after just one blow bottom Rouge was out cold. Ace continued to stand there, staring. Top Rouge stood and brushed nonexistent dirt off her light blue dress, panting. She looked down at the other Rouge.

“Well that was fun. I haven’t gotten to hit someone _that_ hard in a _very_ long time.” Rouge turned away from her unconscious foe and looked at Ace. Her hair was a mess, her dress was wrinkled, and she had a small cut on her lip from when the other Rouge had hit her. She made an effort of straightening her hair and dress, then grinned at Ace. Ace could do no more then stare at her in shock. After a moment, though, the same wild grin came to his face.

“Wow. Somehow I always pictured you more…”

“Ladylike?” Rouge grinned at him. “I had my off days.”

“But…why a frying pan?” Rouge pouted.

“What’s the matter with a frying pan?”

“Nothing. I just…never thought of it as a weapon.” Rouge laughed.

“Neither did your father until he was out cold on my kitchen floor.” Ace gawked at her.

“What?!” Rouge scratched the back of her head awkwardly.

“On the day we first met I kind of…accidentally attacked him and half his crew.” Ace stared at her blankly. She looked at him, blushing. “What? I thought he was breaking into my house!”

“And you won.”

“Yes!”

“With a frying pan.”

“He didn’t wake up for four hours. Lucky for the other half of the crew Rayleigh explained they were just there looking for shelter from a hurricane. I would have had them begging for mercy. I swear some looked about ready to soil their pants. They were just lucky I didn’t have my cast iron.” Ace stared at her for a moment, then laughed. Gol D Roger, most feared and powerful pirate in the entire world, and his mother had knocked him and half his crew out cold for _four hours._ It must have been some damn fast talking on Rayleigh’s part to keep the other half from the same fate. She could have had them all unconscious and turned into the marines. His mother. Ace felt a near absurd surge of pride.

“You’re going to have to teach me how to use one of those things.” Rouge laughed.

“Maybe later. But for now we have to get out of here.”

_ I don’t think so. _

Ace had only just begun to turn when a dozen white, gloved hands materialized seemingly from nowhere. Four of them closed in on him, lifting him off the ground and restraining his movement. The other eight turned to Rouge, some attempting to wrestle the frying pan from her grasp. At first she batted them away like she was playing tennis, but eventually they out maneuvered her and seized her and the weapon.

 _Playtime’s over, Ace. Give me the key._ Ace struggled for a moment, trying to free himself from the restraining hands. They didn’t budge, and he remained stranded in midair, powerless. _The key. Now._

“No.”

_ Yes. Now hand it over. _

“No. I won’t give you the key.” Caterpillar seemed to sigh.

 _I had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this._ The hand holding Ace’s left arm released him and moved over to Rouge. It wrapped long fingers around her throat. Ace blinked, then laughed.

“Threatening her won’t make me give you the key.”

_ Oh? And why’s that? _

“She may be here to help me now because my life’s in danger, but…” Ace looked down, into Rouge’s eyes. His expression was sad. He sighed quietly. “But it doesn’t change the facts. 10 years ago she died. I don’t know why or how, but she’s allowed to visit me sometimes. When I really need her to, she shows up. Just like…” Ace swallowed, the memory replaying itself in his mind. “Just like when Sabo died.” Rouge tried to smile at him comfortingly. Ace looked back up.

“So threatening her is pointless. You can’t kill her because she’s not alive.”

 _I can’t kill her, but she can still experience pain while in this world. So can you, creator dear._ Ace’s eyes widened. Caterpillar’s hand moved from around Rouge’s throat to her hand, gripping the pointer finger firmly. _I believe you’re familiar with_ **exactly** _how much this will hurt?_

“Wait! Don’t do it!” Rouge looked up at him.

“Ace don’t you _dare_ do this. I’m here to help you, not to get you into a deeper mess. If you let go of that key, young man…” Ace turned to her, almost glaring.

“What? You’ll ground me? You’ve already been through enough on my behalf, I’m not about to see you _tortured_ for my sake!” Rouge scoffed.

“I can deal with pain, Ace. But I’m not about to watch you give up something this important. Please, don’t do this.” Ace stared into her pleading eyes for a moment longer, then addressed the room at large.

“You want it? It’s in my left hand. I want to see your face, though.” Ace could feel Caterpillar’s sense of victory, yet there was that niggling confusion.

_ Why do you want to see me? _

“I’m giving you a prize, remember? This kind of thing is usually done face to face.”

_ …No. _

“Oh? Why not?”

 _I don’t take unnecessary risks._ Ace laughed.

“Scared! You’re _afraid_ of me?” Caterpillar seemed to snarl.

 _I’m not afraid._ Ace shook his head.

“Sure you aren’t. Sure. Because 12 against 2 is totally fair.”

_ There are not twelve of me. _

“You do have twelve hands, though. Isn’t that cheating?” Ace was looking around, searching for something, anything, anything out of place in the airdarksmoke.

 _I cannot control how I was made. It’s by your doing that I have twelve hands._ Ace continued his search. _There has to be something, a body somewhere. The hands must be attached to something._ Ace was careful to guard the thought, not allowing it to enter the open mindspace.

“Yet you still use all of them to fight.”

_ …I repeat, I do not take unnecessary risks. Your mother is quite talented with that…weapon of hers. _

“…So you’re scared of a frying pan?” It was a slow process, but Ace was able to discern somewhat of a direction from which Caterpillar’s ‘voice’ was coming, and by that he could, given enough time, triangulate his position.

_ A weapon is only as dangerous as the person who wields it. That woman is far more dangerous than most give her credit for. _

“It’s still not fair.”

_ All is fair in love and war. _

“You know, I never actually read that book.”

_ And, by extension, I haven’t either. Now, enough dawdling, give me the key. _

Ace swallowed. He was out of time. He didn’t know exactly where Caterpillar was, but he had a general area. Ace allowed a smile to come to his face.

“Congratulations, Caterpillar. The contents of my left hand are yours to do with as you please. Happy birthday!” Ace made a wide, sweeping motion with his left arm, simultaneously opening his hand.

The salt sprayed out of his hand in a wide arc, covering a large area. Since he had been able to deduce Caterpillar’s approximate location, the majority of it hit Caterpillar.

And damn if he wasn’t _big._

Caterpillar was still invisible, but as the salt came into contact with his body, Ace heard him scream and based on the way the airdarksmoke whirled and eddied sporadically, he was writhing.

Everywhere the salt came into contact with Caterpillar’s body hissed, giving off foul-smelling smoke.

The whole room seemed to lurch sideways, and gravity seemed to be changing its mind about which way was down. Ace’s stomach revolted at the unfamiliar sensation, but he refused to be sick. For just a moment, Ace felt as if he was seeing _through_ the room, like it was just an image superimposed on a barely transparent screen. Before him was a gigantic worm- no, Caterpillar himself. His hands were desperately trying to free his body of the salt, and he was rolling and writhing in agony.

The hands around Ace finally released him, preferring to aid Caterpillar in his attempt to get off the burning salt. Ace fell to the ground, not quite managing to land on his feet with the shifting gravity. Rouge was beside him in an instant, helping him stand.

“What did you do?” She had to shout to be heard over the rumbling of Caterpillar’s movements and the near earthquake-like shaking of the room.

“I threw salt on him. Enough salt will kill a Caterpillar. Don’t think it’s enough to kill one this big, though.” Ace shouted back with equal volume. He looked around. Crystalline pieces of ceiling were raining down, and the pair began to sprint for the exit. Or in what Ace hoped was the direction of the exit.

The airdarksmoke continued to interrupt Ace’s vision, and he couldn’t make out the entrance to the tunnel that he had come in through. The rumbling was only getting worse and larger and larger bits of ceiling and walls were coming crumbling to the floor.

Eventually they came to the edge of the massive room, the transparent crystal wall arching gently to form the spherical chamber. Through the wall they could see the city outside, and Ace pulled the two of them to a stop, shocked by what he saw.

The entire city was collapsing.

Crystalline towers were crumbling down, colliding with others as they fell. The whole city rang with the sound of shattering glass, and Ace could see some of the city’s ethereal inhabitants fleeing the buildings. As he watched, the tower next to the one he and Rouge were in crumbled, collapsing on itself and falling almost straight down. Ace watched boulder-sized pieces of crystal rain down on the streets below, and the _noise._ If someone dropped one hundred champagne glasses all at once the sound wouldn’t even come _close_ to the noise the collapsing tower made.

A piece of ceiling hit the floor a few paces away from Ace, shattering at the impact. Ace threw up his arms to shield himself from the shards of glass. Rouge grabbed his wrist and began leading him away.

“We have to go. _Now.”_ Her voice was urgent and her tugging on his arm insistent. Ace didn’t feel the urgency of a life-threatening situation, though. Something…something about this wasn’t triggering his survival instincts like he would expect if he were actually in a collapsing tower. He refused to move, and Rouge finally gave up pulling on him. She turned to face him, expression showing urgency and concern. “Ace we have to get out of here _now_ or else the entire building is going to collapse!” Ace shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but flinched back as another piece of ceiling hit the floor and shattered. He shouted over the noise.

“Something’s different. I don’t think we’re actually in danger here.”

“What?! What are you talking about? Ace this whole building is going to shatter and come crashing down and if we aren’t out of here in the next two minutes, it’s going to bring us with it!”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think…” Ace took a deep breath, then looked Rouge in the eyes. “Mother, I don’t think this is real.” Rouge sighed.

“Ace I could have told you that from the beginning, but this place is your creation, kind of like a dream. If you die in a dream, your mind stops functioning and you really do die, so for the love of God I’m going to get you out of here.” She began pulling on his wrist insistently again, but Ace still refused to move.

“No, Mother. This isn’t real even in Wonderland.” Rouge turned to him, confusion in her face.

“What?”

“This whole building, this whole city, isn’t real!” Rouge looked at him like he was crazy. “No, I’m serious! For a moment, back when I threw salt on Caterpillar, for just a moment I could see _through_ this! Caterpillar’s got me drugged and I think it’s some kind of hallucinogen.”

“Wha-“ The whole building shook and began tipping to one side.

“Listen, I just need a minute and I think I might be able to get out of this.” Rouge looked at him and he met her gaze evenly. After a moment she sighed.

“Okay. Just…I don’t want to see you hurt.” Ace smiled at her.

“We wouldn’t have been able to get down anyway. There isn’t a staircase.” Before Rouge could respond, Ace shut his eyes and reached out to Caterpillar.

 _Hello again. How’d you like your prize?_ Ace heard Caterpillar sigh.

 _Very clever, Ace. Very clever. You didn’t manage to kill me, but I’ll not bother you anymore._ Ace could sense Caterpillar’s distaste. _I’d not enjoy another encounter with sodium chloride or your mother’s weapon._

_What’s happening, Caterpillar? Why is the whole city collapsing?_

Caterpillar sighed. _The death of a dream is neither pleasant nor gentle._

_A dream?_

_What defines dream and reality? That which we accept becomes reality. I disliked the last world I was a part of and chose to create my own. Can you truly condemn me for that?_ Ace paused for a moment.

_…I’m not_ that _hypocritical._

_ So you accept that your current reality is merely a lie you’ve accepted in lieu of the truth? _

_Yes._ Caterpillar laughed.

_ Lies are so much prettier, aren’t they? Are you and I so very different, Ace? I created a fairytale out of my nightmares. It may not be reality, but it makes me happy. I was allowed to create perfection. Unattainable perfection. I stood in the place of gods and I built my dreams. _

_Perfection. Yet…imperfection even within that._

_ Because we are imperfect. Tainted. Stained you and I. Ferocity taints your dreams, so what taints mine? _

_Fragility. Fragility and ignorance._ Caterpillar laughed briefly, then turned thoughtful.

_ …I could have built anything. So why a city? Why bother creating an entire city if it’s just my dream? _

_The solitude of a creator is perfect and unbreakable, Caterpillar. It’s another flaw in our dreams. No matter how perfectly different your living creations are, they’re still only a self-portrait._ Caterpillar paused, thinking. After a moment he sighed.

_ I’ll concede this round to you. Keep your key. I like my dreams better. _

_I’m sorry I broke them._ Caterpillar waved him off. There was a moment of silence, and Ace felt like he was rising out of a very deep pool. He was near the surface of that pool when Caterpillar spoke again.

_ Goodbye, Ace. Come back someday, and maybe we can dream together, you and I. Create our impossible, perfectly imperfect worlds. Grow old as lonely gods together, sated and starving in our dreams. _

_Maybe one day._ Ace could feel his mind losing touch with Caterpillar’s. _Maybe you can teach me the secrets of holometabolism and we can fly away, you and I. The stars seem a nice place for dreaming._ Caterpillar was now almost entirely faded from Ace’s mind and he felt like he was floating in darkness. A moment of silence passed. Ace felt the last traces of Caterpillar slipping away. _…Goodbye, Caterpillar._

Ace’s eyes opened.

He was lying on the ground in a clearing. The sun was going to rise soon, and already some of the stars had faded. Ace sat up and instantly violent dizziness came over him. Ace rubbed his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and groaned. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, his head was spinning, and his fingers felt about as dexterous as sausages. _Note to self: don’t do drugs._

Ace opened his eyes again slowly, looking around the clearing.

There was no city. No tower. No ephemeral creatures. No sign that they had ever been there, and indeed they hadn’t. Just a clearing. Just a clearing with a small plant growing near its center. And, hanging from that plant, a small cocoon of light white-grey silk. And, in front of the cocoon, two perfect white gloves, woven from the same silver-white material. Ace took the gloves and folded them neatly, putting them into his right pocket. He nodded to the cocoon. _Thanks, Caterpillar._

Standing proved more difficult than expected. Ace’s first attempt had him back on the ground before he had even fully made it to his feet. The second attempt was adequately more successful, with Ace managing to stand for about 5 seconds. His successive attempt at taking a step forwards, though, landed him on his face and back at square one.

By the time the dizziness had warn off to the point where Ace could stand and walk slowly, the sun had just finished rising. He had made it to the edge of the clearing and out into the light forest beyond when a familiar voice made him pause.

“How was it? Of all the things I expected of you, getting high wasn’t one of them.” Ace took a deep breath.

“It wasn’t exactly intentional. And you could have warned me that what I thought was mist was actually Caterpillar’s…whatever it was he was smoking!” Cheshire laughed.

“But watching you trying to stand up again afterwards was worth it.” Ace sighed.

“Well enough about that. Lead me to Queen.”

“Oh you think you can give orders now?”

“No, but since I can’t ask questions, there was no other way to phrase it.”

“Touché.” Cheshire had padded around and was now seated in front of Ace, massive grin still in place, as ever. Ace sighed.

“Will you ever be more bearable to live with?” Cheshire laughed.

“No. But it’s not by choice that I’m your roommate. Or…brainmate, in this case.”

“Oh?” Cheshire met his gaze, eyes full of desire.

“I want to be by own being.”

“You what?”

“I want to be in charge of my own personal body and mind. I am merely a construct of a piece of your mind, but I want to be _more_ than that. I _am_ more than that. I _deserve_ more than that.” Cheshire’s voice had taken on a different tone than before, full of desperate want. His eyes had gone hard, very, very hard, and he took a step towards Ace. Ace took a cautious step back.

“Cheshire you’re scaring me.” Cheshire stopped and met Ace’s eyes.

“You’re scaring yourself. It’s not my fault you’re scared of your own mind. I _am_ you. We _all_ are you. Don’t ever forget that.” Cheshire blinked, then looked away. He took a deep breath, then looked back at Ace. His eyes were calmer, showing none of their former hunger. He met Ace’s mildly fearful gaze. “Queen’s palace isn’t far from here. But you’ll have to pass through his gardens first.” Ace swallowed, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Queen himself lives in the palace, but the grounds are quite extensive, and the majority are manicured gardens. He’s very fond of roses and has an entire maze formed out of the damnably spiky things. You don’t have to go through the maze itself, but you will have to walk through the majority of the garden to see Queen.” Ace winced.

“That sounds time consuming and I get the feeling I don’t have a lot of time left.” Cheshire’s grin seemed to widen.

“No, there’s no time at all. You see, the Location has moved again and all of them, Queen in particular, are searching desperately for that key.”

“Queen has some kind of advantage.” Cheshire nodded.

“Because the location is currently just outside his gardens.” Ace bit his lip.

“And I’m practically leaping into the jaws of the tiger.”

“An eloquent summary of current events. But if you ever mean to escape from here, this is the best time.” Ace raised an eyebrow meaningfully. Cheshire continued. “If you remain here much longer, you’ll eventually be caught up by one of the others and let me tell you, by our standards, Caterpillar was playing nice. Run while you can, Ace. The monsters are taking off their masks.”

Cheshire disappeared.

 

* * *

 

Ace could do nothing but stare in wonder. _Damn_ the gardens were big!

Rows upon rows of perfectly maintained red roses were growing in pristine condition. Well-ordered paths wound among the flowering plants, and the whole area smelled of the blood-red blooms. Ornate, black iron fences bordered the beds of flowering bushes, and the occasional fountain murmured quietly to itself.

And then there was the maze.

It seemed endless. The hedges that formed it were tall, about three times as tall as Ace. The hedges were rose plants too, but seemed less focused on their flowery nature than their thorny one. The maze twisted and wound in ever more complex patterns, and Ace couldn’t even guess at the correct route through it. Hell, Ace couldn’t even see the _edge_ of it. One edge was pressed against the right side of the garden, sure, but the other side stretched past the horizon and Ace couldn’t make out the end of it. Ace shivered. _Glad I don’t have to go through there._ Ace could easily imagine himself getting _beyond_ lost in that tangled labyrinth.

“Cheshire!”

“I really shouldn’t indulge you like this. If I continue, you’ll become a spoiled brat soon.” Cheshire’s voice was weary, but he appeared anyway, a ways off to Ace’s left. Ace turned to face him.

“I need you to tell me where the Location is.” Cheshire raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were going to see Queen?”

“I am. It’s damnably stupid of me to go and see Queen, I know it is, but I feel like it’s _necessary_ for me to. I want to know where the Location is so I can make a fast exit if necessary.” Cheshire laughed at that.

“Fast exit indeed. You want the Location?” Cheshire’s grin widened. “It’s on the other side of the maze.” Ace leaned back against a tree with a sigh.

“Damn it.” Cheshire chuckled.

“Eloquent as ever, Ace. As for your visit to Queen, you do need to see him.” Cheshire’s grin remained wide as ever. “He’s the one that has all your memories locked up. You’ll need them if you ever intend to regain normalcy back in the real world.” Ace blinked at Cheshire.

“Wh-“

“Forgetting is just forgetting, except when it isn’t. Make no mistake, Ace. Your memories were stolen.”

“He has my memories? But how? Where is he keeping them? Some of them have come back to me naturally as I’ve experienced similar stuff, but…wait a second. How can he ‘lock up’ my memories? Memories are just thoughts and thus nonphysical.”

“Not here. They have a physical form in Wonderland.” Cheshire’s eyes were focused sharply on Ace. “They take the form of something important to you. In this case, a book.” Ace blinked incredulously.

“A book.”

“Yes. I believe once you see it you’ll remember its value. You’re lucky. Someone from the great beyond is on your side. They were the one that saved all your memories and reassembled them.”

“Who?”

“As ever, I don’t answer questions. However, once you see the book I’m certain you will be able to answer your own question. It’s quite a gift this person has given you, don’t waste it.”

Cheshire left again.

“Damn that cat.” Ace muttered to himself, then turned and began walking towards the castle. _A book, huh? And if Queen is trying to keep it from me, he will have hidden it somewhere very hard to find._ Ace sighed to himself. A tiny fleck of doubt wormed into his mind _…What if I don’t like what the book says? What if it tells me something I don’t want to hear? My past is almost entirely lost to me, what if…what if…_ Ace shook his head. There was no way to know until he found the book, and he couldn’t fathom anything that was so bad it would be worse than Wonderland and the ferocity of the Caucus Race. _…But then why would I flee to Wonderland in the first place? What was I running from?_ Ace sighed again, and turned towards the garden. If he intended to get through the gardens, see Queen, find the book, get out of the palace, and make it to the Location unscathed before dark, he was going to have to hurry. It wasn’t yet noon, but the sun was fairly high and the maze was going to take a _very_ long time.

Ace took a deep breath and began making his way through the gardens.

 

* * *

 

Now Ace had a deep appreciation for talented gardening, but even _he_ was getting sick of these _damnably perfect_ roses. Queen must have had a veritable _army_ of gardeners to keep these plants this well maintained. Ace had been walking for what he approximated to be an hour and a half, and he was getting sick of it.

After passing yet _another_ perfect shrubbery, Ace lifted his eyes from the ground in front of his feet. He blinked in surprise, eyes widening.

He had made it. He was at the palace.

The doors were gigantic, reaching about 15 feet above Ace’s head. They were formed out of polished wood that had been painted deep red, red like the roses.

Red like blood.

The palace itself was massive as well, formed out of marble and shadows. The architecture was late medieval, towers soaring overhead and thin, grated windows puncturing the walls. The main doors opened into the largest room in the castle, presumably the main hall, and it was the only room Ace could see with large windows.

The hall was big, probably 2 stories tall. The larger windows were on the upper part of it, and Ace guessed the hall had a main floor and some kind of upper tier, like a balcony or something. Ace could hear faint noises from within, and sidled over to one of the windows to get a peek inside.

Queen was holding court.

The interior of the hall was just as grand as the outside. The large windows of the upper floor provided ample illumination, and Ace could see the entirety clearly.

The hall was massive. A red carpet ran like an aisle down the center of the hall, and it stood out like spilled wine against the white marble floor. On either side of the central floor, balconies could be seen, filled to brimming with men and women splendidly dressed in elegant clothes. The women wore bright hoopskirts and the men elegant suits and tailcoats, and all looked dressed for a grand ball. Each balcony had its own staircase which led up to it from the end of the hall opposite Ace. Ace’s eyes traced the grand, curved staircase down from the second tier back to the main floor. His eyes stopped moving and widened.

He could see Queen.

Ace stumbled back a step from the window and almost fell over. He raised a shaking hand to his mouth. His mind was racing, and his whole body shook. It didn’t make sense. It _couldn’t_ be possible. How-…How could this be? Why? Why was his own mind betraying him like this?

Why was he terrified?

A name was trying to writhe out from behind the lock on his memories. A name to go with the face Ace had just seen. It struggled, straining against its bonds, and finally broke free like a snake hatching from its egg.

Edward. Hare.

The name struck his mind like lightning, all reason and emotions fleeing expect that one, that one that would always be there, that would _never leave him be._

Fear.

Ace wanted to run away.

Ace wanted to escape, wanted to hide, never wanted to be found. He knew this, knew the feeling of this fight-or-flight instinct that was pumping through every vein, every bone, every muscle, every sinew of his body. Terror. Complete, unbiased, impenetrable terror.

Yet he could not remember why he was scared.

Ace swallowed and tried to force down his rattled nerves.

Why was he so afraid?

Ace tried to coax more memories from behind that unbreakable void, but no matter how he tried he could pull no more snippets of his past from beyond that wall.

Ace took a deep breath and approached the window once more.

Queen was seated on his golden throne, dressed in scarlet. He was wearing a tailcoat of deep burgundy with dress slacks to match. Beneath he wore a buttoned waistcoat of embroidered gold thread over brownish crimson, and beneath that a perfectly, perfectly white shirt with a white cravat decorated by a single, oval shaped ruby pin.

He looked like he was dressed in blood and bone, and Ace could think of no more fitting attire for that face.

Queen’s face was familiar to Ace, and instantly his mind associated it with that name. Edward Hare. Queen _was_ Edward Hare.

And _damn_ if Ace wasn’t terrified of that man.

Ace leaned back against the cool stone of the wall and tried to calm his frantic breathing. The stone was comfortingly solid against him, and Ace shut his eyes. His heartbeat was frantic, but it was beginning to slow. The fear wasn’t receding, but Ace had it under control. _I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me, then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain._ Taking one final deep breath, Ace opened his eyes and pushed himself off the wall.

He approached the door with trepidation, but he did approach it.

Ace raised his hand and knocked three times, firmly.

It was Rabbit who opened the door. Ace looked up into his familiar face, and accepted the polite smile. The Rabbit whispered so only Ace could hear.

“You’re so close to late you nearabout gave me a heart attack.”

“Evening Rabbit.” Ace put on a mask of confidence, and once it was on found no difficulty in shoving his fear into a corner of his mind. He faked a smile. “I hope you didn't actually have heart failure. I’d feel terrible.” Rabbit glanced at Queen, who was looking towards the two with curiosity, then back at Ace.

“Listen, you must remember your manners. Queen is horrifically short tempered. Approach the dais, but go no closer than 8 feet. You will then bow, greet His Majesty, and present your gift.” The Rabbit blinked, then asked, panicked. “You do have a gift, right?”

“Yes, yes. Caterpillar gave me a pair of gloves.” Rabbit nodded, then opened the door more fully and turned to address the room at large.

“Now presenting Portgas D Ace, creator and inhabitant of Wonderland, here to cordially greet His Majesty Queen.” Rabbit lowered his voice so only Ace could hear again. “Good luck.” Ace nodded, then turned and began walking down the red carpet towards the throne.

As he walked he felt the eyes of the assembled people on him, but didn’t lift his gaze to look at them. Doing so would have been impolite, and after all the warnings he had received about Queen, he wasn’t about to do anything stupid. Ace’s heart felt tight to the point of being painful, and everything in his mind was beating against him to _run the hell away_ , but Ace refused. He needed to confront that which terrified him but more than that he needed to live and to get his memories back. Running now would mean losing and Ace. Never. Lost.

Ace’s eyes were locked on Queen and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Queen was staring right back, and his face held bored curiosity. He was slumped in his chair as if he didn’t really want to be there. Both arms were sprawled over their respective armrests, and the scepter in one hand was held lazily, almost touching the floor. Queen’s eyes remained focused on Ace as he approached, and when he was about 12 feet away, Queen’s empty hand moved to touch something in his left breast pocket as if reassuring himself it was still there. The gesture was absent, and Ace was fairly sure he wasn’t supposed to notice it, but he did and his eyes darted momentarily to Queen’s pocket. _You bastard. You have it on you, don’t you? Well that won’t be enough. Keeping_ my _book in your pocket won’t be enough to keep me from getting it. You think you’re clever, Queen, but you’re not. Trying to scare me? I’m going to kick your ass._ Ace felt anger, resentment, hate, even, overtake his fear and he allowed those feelings to swell. He’d need them to bolster his courage if he meant to actually _confront_ Queen.

When Ace was almost exactly 8 feet away, he stopped and bowed. He allowed a polite smile to come to his face and turned his eyes downward momentarily as a sign of deference.

“Greetings, your royal Majesty. I apologize if I am somewhat delayed in my visitation to your court. I was underprepared to meet someone of such high standing as you, so I made a few visits to procure the necessities for properly greeting your Highness. To properly apologize for my unpunctuality, I’ve brought your Highness a gift.” Queen was studying Ace with interest. He nodded and gestured absently for Ace to come closer. Ace approached, now merely four feet away.

“You may present your gift.” Queen waved his hand again, and a butler appeared and approached Ace, holding out his hands expectantly. Ace reached into his right pocket and pulled out the silk gloves, handing them over to the butler. The butler accepted them and brought them over to Queen, who looked them over. After studying them for a moment, he waved again and the butler began to take them away. Queen gave a bored sigh.

“Very well. We accept your gift with thanks and-“

“Your Majesty, if I may.” _Dammit why did I cut him off?_ It was too late to stop now, though. Ace swallowed, shoving back his fear. “I…have another gift to present to you.” Queen was looking at him with interest again, like a spider watching a nearby insect draw nearer to its web. He waved again, and another butler approached Ace, expectant hands reaching towards him. Ace glanced at the butler, then looked back to Queen. _If this is going to work, you have to be ready._ Ace licked his lips nervously. Either this was going to work or he was going to get his idiot self killed for his efforts.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, this gift I’d prefer to give you personally.” Queen was looking at him closely now, and a small smile came to his face. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, and he was studying Ace like Ace was a broken clock, trying to figure out what made him tick.

“What are you playing at, Ace?”

“Again with all due respect, I don’t think you want this gift to touch anyone else’s hands before it touches your own.” Queen pulled once at his lip, smile still in place. After studying Ace for another moment, he beckoned for Ace to move forwards.

“Very well. Present this ‘second gift.’” Ace swallowed and began approaching the Queen once more. His fear was shoving itself back up his throat and he felt a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. _You’re in over your head, Ace. This is a really,_ really _bad idea._

Ace drew up next to the throne, about a foot away from the seated Queen.

“Well? What is it?” Queen was looking at Ace expectantly. “I don’t see any other gifts on you. If you’ve wasted my time, I won’t be very _happy,_ Ace.” Ace took a deep breath. All _hell_ was about to break loose. _I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I will face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain._ Ace took a deep breath, steeling his nerves one last time. He was totally screwed. He was completely, utterly screwed. But there was no backing out now.

“No tricks, Your Majesty. No waste of time.” Ace made sure the fake smile was still on his face. Ace raised his left hand. “Just this.”

The room went completely and utterly still.

Ace could feel every eye in the room trained on him, Rabbit’s and Queen’s most especially. Silence didn’t even begin to describe that one moment of peace as every one just stood and stared. Stared at Ace. Stared at his left hand.

Stared at the key he had just taken out of his pocket.

And then the moment died.

“GIVE IT TO ME NOW!” No more was the lazy boredom of the slouched monarch, now there was only _want._ Queen _lunged_ out of his chair, stretching to reach the key. He moved _fast_ , faster than Ace had expected, and Ace only barely managed to pull his hand out of the way before Queen’s hand would have closed around it. Because Ace had positioned himself on Queen’s left, the harsh movement left Queen’s side totally exposed and unguarded, and Ace darted out, pulling an object out of Queen’s pocket in less than a second.

It was a book. A simple, brown leather notebook.

Ace made sure he had a firm grip on the book and then turned to begin sprinting back towards the door. He had to get out, had to get away, before all the others showed up ready to commit _murder_ for this damned key.

What he didn’t count on was Rabbit tackling him to the ground, nearly knocking him unconscious on the marble stairs just behind him.

Ace shook the ringing out of his ears and begun squirming, trying to get out from under Rabbit’s grip. One of Rabbit’s hands was holding his left wrist, pinning it to the ground as Ace squeezed tightly to the key still as of yet in his fist.

His other hand was around Ace’s throat.

Ace was choking, couldn’t breathe under Rabbit’s iron grip, and Rabbit was _screaming_ at him. Rabbit raised Ace’s head via his grip around his throat and slammed his head back into the stairs. Ace’s vision flashed white, and darkness threatened to close in at the edges of his vision.

“GIVE ME THE KEY! I NEED IT! I _WANT_ IT! IT’S MINE!” Rabbit slammed Ace’s head into the stairs again and again, and Ace was sure he was about to pass out or die, that this last _idiot_ plan would truly be his last, when suddenly Rabbit was just _gone_.

Ace registered movement to his left and turned his head in time to see Rabbit slam into the wall with enough force to kill a tiger. Ace turned his head to his right, looking for whatever had sent Rabbit flying.

It was Queen, of course.

He was standing now, and wielding the scepter-like a mace. His left arm was still raised from the follow-through of his blow to Rabbit, and hate-filled eyes were focused on his unmoving victim. His eyes shifted to Ace, wide, livid, and utterly _inhuman_. For a moment hazel-grey eyes met hazel-grey eyes and Queen raised his scepter again.

As soon as Queen moved, Ace rolled instantly to the side, only just managing to dodge a blow that left a veritable _crater_ in the marble of the staircase. Ace rolled onto his feet and began running. He moved up the stairs, going faster than he could ever remember going in his life. Adrenaline pumped through him, and he could process nothing except _run._

He reached the top of the stairs, and instantly began sprinting towards the other end of the hall, not even glancing back to see how close Queen or the Rabbit was. He had no doubt that the Rabbit was still alive, still after him and the bedamned Prize. This was Wonderland and it would take more than one blow to finish off one of the inhabitants hell-bent on getting the key.

Ace ducked under the reaching arms of the assembled ladies and gentlemen, still sprinting for the exit. He was about halfway there when he registered the shouts of pain coming from behind him, and turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

Queen was on a _rampage_. Behind Ace, people were sent _flying_ from his blows. Some went careening into walls with meaty crunches, and others were sent flying out off the balcony and onto the main floor below to smear scarlet onto the perfect white floors. Ace turned back to look forwards again and only had just enough time to drop to the floor and slide beneath Rabbit’s outstretched arm. His hand caught a woman in a blue dress instead, and he pulled ferociously on her arm, tearing the appendage off with the popping of joints and the ripping of meat.

He was trying to climb up to the balcony, one hand gripping the railing, the other still holding the dismembered and bleeding arm. His eyes focused on Ace and registered that Ace had escaped him and he threw the bloody arm away with a snarl of frustration.  Ace sprinted past and didn’t turn to look back, focused only on his objective and getting there as fast as possible.

He was there he was there he was _so_ _fucking close._ Ace’s legs burned from the exertion of the mad sprint, but he didn’t slow down and he didn’t look back. _Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun...YES!_ Ace brought his hands up to shield his face and head and threw himself at the window.

The moment passed in slow motion for Ace and he registered every tiny segment of the fall, watching the shattering glass raining down beside him. He reached the ground and rolled neatly, absorbing the majority of the impact. He didn’t stop to celebrate, though. He wasn’t out of this yet.

Ace got back to his feet and made a straight dash for the maze.

Once inside, Ace instantly turned to his left, choosing his direction randomly and continuing to sprint as fast as possible. He had no clue how the maze was organized or what the solution was, but what mattered most right now was losing Queen and Rabbit. Ace wove randomly, moving through the maze haphazardly. Finally, about 6 minutes later, Ace came to a panting stop. His mad dash left him with sore lungs, an almost _caved in_ head, and a scratch on his face from where one of the rose-hedge’s thorns had cut him. He was hidden, seated almost _under_ one of the hedges that made up the maze. He had stopped to catch his breath and to rest because he was fairly sure his legs would have given out under him if he hadn’t.

He leaned his head back, waiting for his breathing to slow.

“I do believe that was the single stupidest things you have ever done.” Ace’s eyes shot open and focused on the source of the voice.

“Cheshire!” Ace’s voice was filled with relief. Cheshire was grinning as ever, and seated about ten feet away from Ace.

“What made you think that was a good idea? Honestly, how did you even _consider_ that a viable solution?” Ace grinned cheekily.

“I didn’t. It was spur of the moment.” Cheshire rolled his eyes.

“I’ll just chalk it up to luck that you aren’t paste right now, then.” Ace bit his lip.

“They’re still looking for me, aren’t they?”

“I don’t answer questions, but this seems a special circumstance. Yes. Yes they are. And if you don’t get out of here _now_ they will find you and the outcome won’t be pleasant.” Ace took a deep breath and thought for a moment.

“How the hell am I supposed to get out of this maze when every turn could either lead me to a dead end or to someone who’s determined to bash my face in? I don’t even have a map of the maze!”

“I can’t lead you out, but I can give you a useful piece of advice.”

“Oh?”

“I actually gave it to you some time ago, but I don’t trust your memory. Remember this, Ace. This place is your mind. Can’t find a way out? Make one.” Ace nodded and stood, ready to head off again. “Oh and one more thing.” Ace turned back to look at Cheshire. “Rules don’t apply. Not anymore. So don’t bother following them.” Ace’s brows furrowed, confused.

“Cheshire what’s that supposed-“ Cheshire was gone. Again. Ace ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Damn that cat and his damn teleportation!” A twig snapped to Ace’s left. His head instantly swiveled towards the sound, and not a moment later he was off, sprinting in the other direction.

 

* * *

 

Leaves and the occasional ruby red bloom swept by him in a blur. No matter what Cheshire had said, he was still running randomly. He didn’t even know where the damn maze ended, only that the Location was on the other side. He had no means of orienting himself, as he was now so deep into the maze that he couldn’t see the palace anymore. He didn’t even know the general direction he was supposed to be going! He had had the occasional near encounter with Rabbit or Queen, which always led to a panicked flight down randomly selected corridors of green, red, and brown.

Ace came to a stop after another such flight, pressing against the wall, ignoring the thorns in preference of the semi-concealment they offered. He panted, raising a hand and wiping some sweat off his forehead. _Damn everything I can’t keep this up forever!_ Already Ace’ throat was feeling _very_ dry, and Queen and Rabbit seemed to be catching up with him more and more frequently.

And it would only be so long until one of them led him into a dead end.

Swallowing, Ace forced his breathing to slow and headed off again at a fast walk. He needed to conserve his energy for the bursts of speed when Queen or Rabbit caught up with him. _The others could be here by now too. Everyone but Cheshire seems dead set on winning the Caucus Race, and the key…pulls them somehow, I think._ Ace took a deep breath, trying to calm his ragged breathing.

A twig snapped to Ace’s right and he froze, pressing back against the hedge wall.

He was at an intersection of two paths that ran parallel, and Ace watched with widened eyes as Rabbit walked past the opening in the hedge. His eyes were…inhuman, the same way Queen’s had been. There was no soul, no mercy, no compassion, only _want._ His eyes were insane.

Ace stayed pressed against the hedge, _praying_ that Rabbit wouldn’t find him. Rabbit’s breathing was as slow as ever, but he stood slightly hunched. His appearance had changed somewhat. His shoulders hung lower now, wider, and his arms were much longer than they used to be, disproportionately so. He was much taller, his highest point being the hunch in his back from which his shoulders and neck hung. He was about 9 feet tall now. His fingers had grown longer and bonier, and the end of each was tipped with a long black nail, more like a claw. His footsteps paused at the opening in the hedge. One ear twitched and a manic half grin came to his face.

“I _hear_ you!” His voice was almost singsong, and he turned his head about, wild eyes roving over the hedge searching for Ace. Ace put a hand over his mouth, eyes widened, trying to hide the noise of his heavy breathing. His back was pressed to the hedge and the opening was about 3 feet to his right. Rabbit’s footsteps drew closer, and Ace could only watch in horror as Rabbit stepped through the opening.

Ace’s breathing stopped entirely, widened eyes focused on Rabbit’s back. If Rabbit turned he would see him. Ace’s blue shirt stood out against the dark leaves and branches of the hedge like a candle in a darkened room.

“I’m going to find you, Ace.” Rabbit addressed the area at large, and Ace’s heart tightened fearfully. “I’m going to find you and I’m going to take that key.” Rabbit’s head was swinging about as he looked for Ace, but he had yet to discover him. He stopped moving and snuffled like a dog looking for a scent, then turned slowly around and walked back through the opening he had come from.

“I smell your blood, Ace.”

Ace held perfectly still, not daring to even twitch. The Rabbit’s footsteps faded slowly away, heading behind and to Ace’s left.

Ace released his held breath in a gasp. The noose around his heart loosened somewhat, and he took several deep gulps of air. He leaned his head back against the hedge and closed his eyes, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. He raised his hands and scrubbed at his face, trying to ease some of the tension out of his shoulders and back.

After several more deep breaths, Ace lowered his head again and opened his eyes.

“Hi Ace.” Rabbit’s wide, insane eyes were less than ten inches from Ace’s own. Ace had only begun to throw himself backwards when Rabbit’s hand closed around his throat and raised him off the ground. Ace instinctively grabbed at the restraining hand, trying to release the pressure on his throat that was cutting off his air supply, but no amount of struggling would loosen the suffocating pressure on his throat. Rabbit was staring at him with that same manic half grin and the same inhuman eyes, watching the slow asphyxiation.

Ace wriggled and writhed in the Rabbit’s grasp, but no amount of struggling freed him of Rabbit’s hold. Now that he had him, Rabbit had gone as still as a statue, merely watching Ace strangulate. Ace was running out of air and really starting to grow desperate. _This is my own mind! How can my own mind be killing me?! Aren’t we all on the same side?_ Cheshire’s words echoed through his mind. _“Remember this, Ace. This is your mind. Can’t find a way out? Make one.”_  Ace’s last attempt had failed miserably, but Ace was running out of options and time fast. Ace shut his eyes. _I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. No one’s mind would ever create threats without creating something to counteract those threats. I’m not going to die. My own mind is attacking me? My own mind is going to save me too._ A strange calm came over Ace, and he turned his head towards Rabbit, opening his eyes and looking down at him.

“Let me go. Now.” Rabbit blinked up at him, mad sneer still on his face.

“No.”

“I. Said. _NOW!”_ Ace’s voice came out in a roar, but it wasn’t him that was roaring. The sound was like the shriek of a gyrfalcon, the wail of the starling in its talons, and the dying scream of a lion all rolled into one.

And then a nightmare attacked the White Rabbit.

It moved so fast it was merely a blur. It pounced on the White Rabbit with the ferocity of an enraged tiger, and its momentum carried both it and the Rabbit through the next hedges and out of Ace’s sight. When it had attacked the White Rabbit, it had done _tremendous_ damage. Ace lay on the ground coughing and spluttering. Once he had an acceptable amount of air in his lungs he sat up and looked around.

The Rabbit’s torn off arm lay about five feet in front of Ace.

There was a massive hole in the hedges where…whatever it was had carried the Rabbit through the hedge and beyond. Ace peered through the hole cautiously only to see the destruction carry on for another seven walls. The Rabbit’s blood was spattered on the hedges and on the ground, particularly in a rather massive pool around the dismembered arm. Ace stood shakily and backed away from the limb. He was in shock, he could tell he was. Near death experience plus some kind of monster then attacking the monster that was attacking you and ripping its freaking _arm_ off tended to have that effect on people.

“Holy shit.” Ace looked between the limb and the destruction of the nearby maze. Ace ran a hand through his hair. “Holy shit.” He looked once more between the hole and the limb. He swallowed, then shook himself. _I have to get out of here before Rabbit comes back._ Ace glanced at the limb. **If** _he comes back._ Ace backed a few paces away from the still bleeding limb, then turned and sprinted down the hedge corridor. _Great. Rabbit and Queen are still trying to kill me, and now there’s some kind of monster running around and who knows? Maybe it wants to join in the fun and kill me too!_ Ace looked up and had to skid to a stop to avoid colliding with Cheshire. Cheshire was standing in his path, blocking the way.

“Not that way, fool! _It_ went that way!” Ace braked hard, using his momentum to turn down an intersecting passage. Cheshire ran beside him, keeping pace with him. Ace was already panting from his earlier sprinting, and he didn’t have a ton of stamina left.

“What _is_ that thing, Cheshire?!” Cheshire turned his head and looked at Ace. His eyes seemed wider than normal, like even _he_ was scared.

“The sight. The stink. The sinister _sound_. What have you _imagined_ , Ace?”

“I didn’t-“ There was that haunting, piercing _wail_ again, off to their right but nearby. Ace ran past another intersection, glanced down it, and saw the true monstrosity his mind had wrought.

It was still attacking the Rabbit, wide, doglike jaws snapping, trying to catch Rabbit’s limbs or torso. Blood flecked its teeth and was spattered on its skin, staining the formerly white teeth and pinkish skin with red. Its monstrous, disgusting wings writhed and batted at the air, lengthening its jumps and allowing it to hover occasionally. Lizard-like hands lashed out with sharp, sharp claws and it would rake and kick at Rabbit with its mismatched feet.

The sight alone was enough to freeze Ace to the spot.

The monstrosity turned its attention to Ace as soon as he had stopped, and it absently caught and threw the Rabbit away, a good quarter of a mile distant in the maze. It approached Ace seemingly eagerly, not charging but definitely moving faster than what could be called strictly speaking necessary. It stopped about 15 feet away, and Ace felt he was being studied closely, even though the nightmare had no eyes. It opened its jaws, and for the first time Ace got a look at its tongue.

Its tongue was a human arm.

The arm began to move rhythmically, as if conducting music, and Ace found he could not turn his eyes away from it, even though it terrified him.

_Wiser men should run away._

_The Jabberwock has come to play._

“ACE WE HAVE TO GET MOVING RIGHT NOW OR YOU’RE GOING TO BE LUNCHMEAT.”

_Come and play, the dark is nice._

_And I’ve run out of tasty mice._

Ace barely registered Cheshire’s shouting in his ear, but when Cheshire clawed his leg the pain pulled him out of the Jabberwocky’s lull. Once he came back to reality, he turned away from the Jabberwocky to look down the corridor at Cheshire. Only he looked the wrong way.

And saw Queen instead.

Queen’s appearance had changed too. He didn’t look like an adult anymore, but rather like an oversized child, like a gigantic 11-year-old kid. He wasn’t wearing the fancy red suit anymore, but rather was clothed in simple red pants and a blood-spattered white shirt. He was proportional, but was staggeringly large, the top of his head being about 13 feet off the ground. A small crown floated just above his head, and he dragged his overly large scepter in the dirt behind him. It was more a mace or a warhammer than a scepter now, though. His eyes were wide and held the same madness that Rabbit’s had, and the way he walked was robotic and very artificial. His head was skewed at a sickening angle, like his neck had been broken. His eyes still held the clarity of life, though, and he was staring straight at Ace.

Ace staggered back a few steps, then turned and sprinted the other way. _Holy hell. Is there anyone out there who_ **isn’t** _trying to kill me?_ Queen gave a squeal of rage, and Ace didn’t need to turn around to know he was in hot pursuit.

Ace sprinted down the corridor, summoning all of his flagging strength to try to escape both of the monstrosities currently trying to kill, maim, or otherwise ruin his day. _Fuck everything, I’m screwed as hell if I don’t find the exit to this goddamned maze soon._ Ace recognized that he was swearing, but it didn’t really matter. And hey! If it helped him release the ridiculous amount of stress he was currently under, that was good with him.

Ace flung himself down a side corridor just in time to avoid a earthshaking blow from Queen’s weapon, a new surge of adrenaline increasing his speed even more than before. _I don’t even know where I’m going! If I had some means of orienting myself this would be so much easier! I don’t even know where the exit to this thrice damned place is!_

Ace ducked down another corridor, again narrowly avoiding an introduction to Queen’s weapon. He was panting fairly heavily now, and knew he couldn’t hold out much longer if something didn’t change _really_ soon.

 

* * *

 

Shanks recognized he was venting 28 days of stress, worry, and anger on the marines and he didn’t think he could possibly bring himself to give less of a shit.

His foes were falling faster than new ones could replace them, and if this was the best that the ship had to offer, Shanks was going to need something else to vent on pretty damn soon.

They had attacked the ship about an hour ago, and no one on the vessel had posed any kind of threat to Shanks or his crew. Yet another idiot marine who thought himself some kind of hero fell to Shanks’ blade, and Shanks looked around, panting from exertion.

His crew was nearby, and they were all looking at Shanks like they were mildly concerned he might turn around and start attacking _them._

 _Well_ **excuse me** _for freaking the fuck out!_ Shanks…was in a terrible mood. They had boarded the ship about 45 minutes ago after pinning her against some nearby reefs. Shanks had been the first one on the damn boat, and his crew didn’t even _bother_ attacking the marines, simply waiting for their captain to take them out on his own. They knew better than to get in his way when he was like this.

And now, 45 minutes later, it seemed like every last marine on the ship had either run away or been the unfortunate victims of the massive lump of accumulated stress known as Red Haired Shanks. The ship was now silent, and no one emerged from below decks to challenge the attackers.

Shanks took several deep breaths and attempted to calm his frazzled nerves.

Running a hand over his hair in an attempt to smooth his no doubt manic appearance, Shanks smiled to his crew, nodded, and promptly charged below decks.

The interior of the ship was dark. Very dark. Shanks passed through a mess hall, a galley, a bunk room, the officer’s cabin, and finally the first mate’s cabin, but could find no sign of the cell area.

He finally came to a panting stop outside yet _another_ door, and took a moment to catch his breath before opening it. You never knew whether some marine brute was going to pop out from behind the next door or not, after all. Taking one last deep breath, Shanks threw open the door, sword raised.

It was the infirmary of the ship.

The whole room, floor, walls, ceiling, examining table and beds, all were sterile white. Of all the rooms in the ship, this was by far the brightest, the white light nearly blinding after the gloom of smashed lanters in the other rooms. Shanks’ eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room and he looked around more closely.

“Please! Don’t hurt me! I’m just a doctor! Please, I’m only here to heal people!” Shanks’ eyes finished adjusting to the harsh white of the room, and he turned his gaze to the source of the voice.

It was a man. He wore a white doctor’s coat over loose pants and a blue button up shirt. He was currently pressed up against the wall, using his arms to shield his head. He looked terrified.

After a moment of Shanks not attacking him, the man lowered his arms and looked somewhat fearfully at the pirate. A small, hesitant smile came to his face.

“You’re-You’re here to save him, aren’t you?” He gave a short laugh. “He said you’d come. Captain didn’t believe him, but no matter what he never gave up hope.” Shanks instantly grew hyperaware, focused on every word the man said. He sheathed his sword and approached the man, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Where is he? _Where is Ace?_ ” The man looked terrified again, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He stuttered for a moment, then replied.

“I can show you where he was being kept. I can lead you to him. Please…don’t kill me. I’m just a doctor. I never wanted to be a marine, but the draft is still legal on the island I come from and there was no avoiding it. Please. I just want to go home.” He was rambling, and looked scared enough to piss himself. Shanks released him.

“Lead me to him. Now.” The doctor raised his hands placatingly, then sidestepped around Shanks and headed towards the door. Shanks turned and followed him half eagerly, half hesitantly.

The man led him down several flights of stairs, deeper into the ship than Shanks had gone before. On the way they encountered some of the other members of Shanks’ crew who joined the procession. Not many though, and by the time they got down to the cell area, the party consisted of the doctor, Shanks, Benn, and Yassop. It was dark down here, and Shanks had made a habit of stopping to light lamps and torches from the lamp he had picked up along the way trying to expel the darkness somewhat.

The marine doctor stopped just outside a closed door. He took a deep breath, as if steeling his nerves.

“The cellblock is down there.” Shanks looked at the doctor.

“You’re not coming with us?” The doctor shook his head.

“I don’t…I don’t think he wants to see me.” Shanks’ eyes took on a darker glint.

“And why would _that_ be?” The doctor raised his hands placatingly again.

“I tried to help him once. But…” The doctor looked down. “But captain found out and he…”

“Your captain what?” The doctor looked away. Shanks’ stomach tied itself in a knot. The doctor would not meet his eyes.

“I tried. I swear to you I tried.” Shanks turned to his comrades. He addressed Yassop specifically.

“Stay here with him.” Yassop nodded and leaned against a nearby wall.

Shanks took a deep breath and turned towards the door, throwing it wide.

If the hall had been dark, the cellblock was pitch black. Shanks walked down the stairs carefully, fighting to see in the near perfect darkness. The only illumination came from the lamp in Shanks’ hand, and it didn’t do much to expel this complete darkness, which hung like a stagnant smoke over everything down here.

Shanks’ stomach was twisting itself into knots from worry and the tension only continued to rise as he walked down the stairs.

Finally reaching the bottom, Shanks began to walk slowly down the seemingly endless hallway, looking into each cell on his left as he passed them by. Most were empty, occupied only by vacant shackles. The whole place was completely spotless, clean to the point of emptiness.

The place had no soul.

Shanks didn’t know where the thought had come from, but instantly knew it to be true. _People have died here._ Again, Shanks didn’t know where the thought had come from but inherently knew it to be true as well. Shanks swallowed his rising dread, forcing himself to go on. Ace needed him and by God he intended to keep his promise.

Shanks looked into the cells he passed, moving faster and faster as his desperation grew. Empty, empty, empty, empty. _Damn does this hallway go on forever?_ Empty, empty, emp- Shanks froze where he stood. His heart stopped. _Oh God no._

There was a body in this cell.

Thin. Horrifically thin. Thin to the point of starvation, ribs standing out against the skin as if they meant to poke through it. The back of the body was turned towards Shanks, and all across the exposed skin Shanks could see innumerable whip marks. It wasn’t just the whip marks, though. There were lacerations from knives, burns from fire and acid. All the way down one arm Shanks could clearly see where a branding iron had trailed down the skin. Shanks’ eyes moved lower, down to where both legs were bent horribly in places where legs should never bend. Shanks’ eyes moved back up the tiny frame to pause on the shoulder where letters had been carved with knife and acid.

_Edward Hare_

A name. A name like this poor tormented soul was some kind of possession to be owned, used, and thrown away at will. Shanks’ eyes moved farther still to that familiar head of black hair, now matted and sticky with congealed blood.

He seemed so tiny, lying there on the floor of that cell, of that cage. He seemed like an infant again. Ace thought Shanks didn’t know, but Shanks knew.

Shanks would know the son of his captain anywhere.

A sudden memory struck Shanks. He had been a teenager at the time, no more than 18 years old. He was in a sunny, brightly lit room. In front of him, a beautiful woman with long light brown hair and nearly childish freckles was smiling and giggling at him. He was nervous, he’d never done anything like this before. The woman in front of him was comforting him, assuring him that he was doing just fine, but he found it hard to believe. Shanks looked down at the newborn baby cradled in his arms.

The baby was still, sleeping peacefully. He had the same childish freckles as his mother, but the tuft of black hair on his head was all Roger. The baby opened its eyes and blinked up at him wonderingly, like Shanks was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his short life. The hazel-grey eyes were Roger’s too. Slowly the baby reached a chubby hand up as if trying to grab onto something. An involuntary grin came to Shanks’ face.

“Do ya like my hair, little guy?” Shanks bowed his head so some of his vivid red hair hung just above the baby. The baby’s chubby fist closed around a small lock of Shanks’ hair, and he tugged on it gently. The grin was still on Shanks’ face, and he bent his head further, shaking it back and forth gently so his hair tickled over the baby’s nose. The baby burst into a fit of giggles, and it was impossible not to smile down at him. Rouge was smiling at him serenely, truly enjoying seeing Shanks that happy. She’d practically adopted the entire crew as her sons, and truly regarded and loved them as family.

“Congratulations. You’re the first one that’s been able to get him to laugh.” Rouge giggled at him. “And you were so nervous! Just look at him! He’s never smiled so big.”

The memory faded, and not an instant later Shanks had cut clear through the lock on the door. He hurled through the now open entrance and crouched down beside Ace. He looked at Ace’s face, and Shanks thought the whole world was about to collapse.

Ace’s eyes were dead.

“Oh my God…” The words came out as a mere weak whisper, and Shanks’ hands hovered over the boy. There were tears in his eyes, but Shanks didn’t bother trying to hold them back. “No. No. You can’t be dead. Please no.” Shanks was shaking his head, his brain desperately trying to convince itself that the sight before him was a lie, that his captain’s son, the boy Shanks now looked at as almost his own son, wasn’t actually dead. A tear fell from Shanks’ eye and splashed onto Ace’s left arm.

Ace let out a tiny whimper, audible only in the silence of the room.

Shanks’ eyes shot open at the sound, and turned down to the boy. Shanks hadn’t noticed before, and even now that he was looking for hit it was barely distinguishable. But it was most assuredly still there.

Ace was breathing.

Each breath was miniscule and seemed to hitch in Ace’s throat. Shanks reached down and gently rolled Ace onto his back, then slid an arm under his shoulders, propping him up into a near sitting position. At the contact, Ace whimpered again.

The sound was pitiful, but it seemed the only noise Ace could make. His breathing was too shallow for anything more and something about the way the air hitched in his throat suggested it was painful to him. Shanks now had a clear look at the full extent of the damage Ace had suffered.

His chest was covered with the same whip marks and gashes and burns as his back, and he had what looked like a cauterized bullet wound on his left shoulder. He’d need dozens of stitches, and Shanks didn’t think an ocean of bandages would be enough, but Ace was breathing and that was all that mattered.

And then Shanks saw Ace’s right hand.

The digits were bent horribly, and Ace autonomically kept the appendage tucked close to his chest, trying to protect it. The hand was mostly curled up, again seemingly in an attempt to protect it.

Ace would be lucky if his hand ever worked again.

Ace wasn’t dead yet, and Shanks wasn’t about to let him die in his arms. Shanks turned to Benn, frantic and panicked.

“Benn go get Ricky!” Ricky was their ship’s doctor and if anyone in the world could help Ace, it would be him. Benn nodded and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Shanks turned back to the boy in his arms, cradling him close like he had on the second day of Ace’s life.

“I’m so sorry, Ace. I’m so, so sorry. Please, just let me see you smile again. I know I broke my promise and I can never, never hope to make that up to you but please, come back. I’m begging you. Don’t leave us. Luffy still needs you, _I_ still need you please…”

 

* * *

 

Ace cocked his head to the side, pausing for a moment. _Was that…?_ Ace kept his ears pricked, attuned for any sound whatsoever.

“Ace I never meant to leave you this long, I’m so sorry…I did my best, I swear I did.” Ace’s brows furrowed. _Shanks…?_ Upon stealing the book from Queen, Ace’s memories had slowly but surely come pouring back into his mind. At the voice, Ace had a vivid mental image of a grinning man with red hair and a straw hat perched jauntily on his head. More importantly, Ace could deduce a _direction_ from which the voice was coming.

“Ace please, _please._ Come back. Come back home.” Ace’s head swiveled left and he instantly started running that way. The voice was close. Really close. Ace must have been near the edge of the maze this whole time and not even known it. Queen, Rabbit, and Jabberwocky were still close by and Ace didn’t know their exact locations, but if he could get out of here there wouldn’t be anything to fear anymore.

Because Shanks was there. And Shanks would protect him.

Ace full out sprinted in the direction of the voice, ignoring everything else. Glancing down a passing corridor, Ace glimpsed Rabbit snuffling about, ears swiveling, but Ace didn’t even slow. He was almost there, he was almost free of this. Free of Wonderland, free of the Caucus Race, free of that man with the cold eyes that he remembered now.

Ace knew he was almost free of Edward Hare.

Ace could hear Rabbit behind him again, but it didn’t matter because he was going to be _free_ finally free after what felt an eternity in hell. Free to go home, free to see Luffy, his little brother, again, free to _live without fear._

And then Ace hit the dead end.

“No. No! Not now!” A laugh sounded from behind Ace and he spun.

Rabbit was standing there, blocking the only exit from the passageway.

“I suddenly find the name to be very fitting, don’t you? You’ve reached a _dead end_ , Ace.” Rabbit took a step closer. “And there’s nothing to save you now.”

Ace pressed back against the wall behind him. It was solid, the hedges thick and unyielding. He’d come all this way, and here he was.

At a dead end. At _his_ dead end.

“Jabberwocky won’t save you now. He’s too busy tussling with Queen.” Rabbit took another step closer. One side of his tattered outfit was completely soaked in blood that still oozed sluggishly from the mass of torn flesh and broken bone where his arm should have attached to his shoulder.

“You know, Ace, I don’t necessarily _have_ to kill you. You could make this whole process _much_ more enjoyable for yourself if you just give me the key willingly.” He walked closer still, pace even and smooth. Ace swallowed, refusing to show fear. He would not submit to this inhuman monster. He wouldn’t do it. Rabbit got closer still until he was two feet from Ace, his face inches from Ace’s own.

“You’ve lost. Now give me the key, Ace.” Rabbit’s breath was hot against Ace’s face, and it smelled like raw meat. It made Ace sick.

Ace spat in the White Rabbit’s face.

 _“Can’t find a way out? Make one.”_ Rabbit had wiped the spit from his eyes, and was now glaring at Ace.

“That wasn’t very polite, Ace. And you always aught to be polite to those more powerful than you, you end up with less broken that way.” Ace felt strangely calm. Like he was in complete, perfect control of the situation. He blinked at Rabbit.

“There’s a door behind me. It’s the exit to the maze. It leads right to where the location is.” Rabbit was staring at him in confusion. “It’s a very special door, though. Only I can go through it. You want to know something else?” Ace leaned forward so he could whisper in the White Rabbit’s ear. A massive grin came to his face. “There’s a knife in my hand.” Rabbit had only just begun to pull away from him when Ace lashed out.

The bright steely knife flashed with the late afternoon light as it arched through the air first silver, then red. The Rabbit recoiled back with a shriek, the deep gash on his chest bleeding crimson over his perfect white fur. The knife seemed to burn him even after he was no longer in contact with it and he continued his wail of agony, back arching as he writhed in an attempt to escape this pain. The Cheshire Cat grinned from his place beside Ace.

“The Vorpal Blade is swift and keen and always ready for service.” Ace looked down at Cheshire and grinned back at him. He fingered the knife, twirling it experimentally.

“You know, your advice really seems to be working now.”

“As with most things, you were just over thinking it before. Simple problems have simple solutions, Ace. If something is simply trying to kill you, it’s simply a matter of killing it back.” Cheshire begun to fade, then seemed to change his mind, reappearing again. “…I don’t think I shall be seeing you for quite some time. So before I go, I’ll give you one last piece of advice.” Cheshire’s eyes went dark. “Aim for his eye. And don’t stop until he isn’t screaming anymore.” And he vanished.

Ace blinked, confused. The Rabbit’s agonized wailing woke him from his confusion, and he turned.

Just as he said it would be, there was a door behind him.

It was a simple door, plain wood with a brass handle. Ace took the handle in his hand a turned it. It moved without any kind of squeak from its hinge, and the door swung outwards, revealing openness.

Ace had made it out of the maze.

Ace suddenly realized how suffocated he had felt in that never-ending hell of thorny hedges and blood red blooms. Not to mention the fact that there wasn’t a monster breathing down his neck and another two down every turn. Ace breathed a deep sigh of relief. He turned, searching for whatever the Location would be.

It was a door. A freestanding door, seemingly unattached to anything but the ground. Theoretically it should lead nowhere, but Ace felt drawn towards it, knew it would take him somewhere much more meaningful than nowhere. It was wooden and unassuming. It was painted, but the paint looked old and was beginning to flake off in some places. The door was once white, but age had somewhat faded its perfect paint to an off-white. It was imperfect. Stained.

Ace could think of no door that better represented himself.

Ace reached carefully towards the door with his left hand, bringing out the key from its place of semi-safety in his closed fist. He had imprints on his palm from how tight he had been holding onto it. The key was as simple and unassuming as the door. It, too, looked ancient, and looked like it was made of brass or bronze. The metal was dull, and didn’t really reflect the light all that well.

Ace slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly clockwise.

The lock clicked home with an almost satisfied sounding pop. Ace turned one last time to survey his Wonderland, his perfectly imperfect delusion and wondered just what it said about him. It was violent and savage and fierce, yet it held such beauty unto itself. Ace would never forget the splendor of the Gate or the grandness of the palace or the elegance of Caterpillar’s dream. It was flawed, yet wasn’t the beauty all the more wonderful because of it? Ace smiled out at his creation, and hefted the Vorpal Blade in his hand. He turned it about in the light, studying its delicately engraved blade and simple hilt. He smiled at it like an old friend, then turned out to Wonderland once more and tossed it out into that world.

He would take nothing with him but the memories. Wonderland was what it was, and Ace was what he was. There was no changing it. Ace knew this place was his and that he was this place and he could belong here, could dream himself a world all his own. But no. Because Ace had better than a dream. Ace closed his eyes and created one last thing for himself.

Luffy’s drawing had been perfectly preserved in Ace’s memories, and the recreated image was exactly the same as the original. The handwriting was just as sloppy, the figures were just as disproportionate, and the freckles on Ace’s drawn face looked more like some kind of disease than freckles, but to Ace it was more beautiful than any Gate or palace or crystal city he could ever dream up. Ace grinned down at the drawing, then uncreated it just as he had made it.

Ace turned towards the door and opened it, never once looking back at Wonderland or even the door itself. He left with no regrets, there was no need to look back. But Ace did look forward because he had something to look forward to.

Ace was coming home.

 

* * *

 

“Captain I can fix all of his physical injuries but…” Ricky was looking into Shanks’ face, clearly trying to judge how much the truth would break his captain’s heart. “Captain, I-…I can’t fix…that.” Ricky gestured to Ace’s cloudy, staring eyes. Shanks looked like a lost puppy.

“But…you must be able to help him. Of course you can help him.”

“No, Captain. I can’t. I’m…I’m sorry.” Ricky spoke gently, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Shanks looked back down to Ace’s face, to his cloudy, dead-looking eyes. Shanks swallowed thickly, then bowed his head. A tear fell from Shanks’ face, and everyone pretended not to notice it or how Shanks’ breathing had grown tight, hitching occasionally in his throat. Everyone there looked completely broken. They all knew it. They had failed their friend. They had failed their friend and now they had failed their captain too.

“I’m so, so sorry Ace. I tried so hard. We all tried so hard…” Shanks swallowed down another sob. His eyes were squeezed shut against the tears. “Can you ever forgive me for breaking my promise?” Ace had needed him. Ace had been suffering all this time, been in complete _agony_ all this time, and Shanks hadn’t been there to save him. He had failed his friend when he needed him most and Shanks could never atone for that.

“What are you talking about? You never broke your promise.” Shanks’ eyes shot open. The voice had only been the barest of whispers, but it had been there. Shanks looked at Ace’s face.

His eyes were clear again.

“What are you apologizing for? You kept your promise.” Another tear fell from Shanks’ eye.

“No I didn’t! I should have saved you, protected you from all of this!”

“But you _did_ save me. I never could have lasted this long if I didn’t have hope. I knew you were coming. It was enough to keep me going. And now you’re here and everything’s going to be better now.” Ace’s eyes went serious. “Is…Is Hare dead?”

“Who?”

“The captain of the ship. Is he dead?” Shanks nodded. There was no way the captain could have survived his murderous rampage throughout the ship. Shanks remembered now. The captain’s body had been in the infirmary on the examination table. He had a long, deep gash across his neck and chest, and the doctor had apparently been trying to save him before Shanks came in.

“Yeah, Ace. The captain’s dead.” Ace took a deep breath, looking relieved. Ace chuckled and smiled weakly up at Shanks. “And you always tease Luffy when he cries. You big baby.” Ace dropped the smile after a moment. It took a surprising amount of energy and Ace didn’t have a lot of that right now. Ace licked his parched lips. His whole mouth was parched, actually. His tongue felt about as moist as sandpaper. “Shanks?”

“What is it, Ace?” Ace bit his lip.

“When you…when you came down here, was there anyone else in the other cells?” Shanks looked at Ace in confusion. He glanced at Benn, and Benn shook his head.

“No, Ace. There was nobody else.” Ace’s eyes were closed, and he swallowed thickly. He was being foolish, he knew. Hare had kept everything pristinely clean down here. There was no way he’d keep a body for that long. _I’m sorry, Sabo._ _I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t protect you. Just like I couldn’t protect Gabriel. I’m sorry. I never did anything to deserve a brother like you. I’ll never forget you. Ever. I promise._

“Shanks?”

“Yes?” Ace looked around the cell and shivered.

“Can we…Can we leave now?” Shanks smiled down at the boy.

“Yeah. We can leave.” He stood gently, cradling Ace in his arms. Benn approached him before he could leave and addressed Ace.

“…There was no one else in the cells, but we did find this.” Benn held out a book. It was simple, just a plain brown leather notebook. Ace stared at the book, eyes wide. “It’s…It’s for you. On the inside of the front cover…. It’s dedicated to you. It says it’s from your brother.” Ace swallowed hard, trying to bite back tears. He nodded, and Benn placed the book in his lap, seeming to sense his inability to reach out and take it right now. Ace closed his eyes as Shanks began making his way out of the cellblock. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Ace was deeply asleep. Shanks made no stops until he was back on his own ship and had Ace gently tucked into one of the infirmary beds. Benn followed after his captain at a more reserved pace, and stopped to confer with the marine doctor at the top of the stairs.

“Could you…Could you please take me with you? The others took all the lifeboats when they were running away, and I won’t be able to get to land by myself.” Benn seemed to consider it for a moment, looking the doctor up and down. He didn’t seem like a threat, timid and terrified as he had been the entire time. Benn sighed.

“Fine. But try anything funny and you’ll be dead faster than you can blink.” The marine smiled, looking genuinely relieved.

“Thank you so very, _very_ much.” Benn waved him off, preferring to jump back onto the East Wind. Halfway across the deck he paused and turned back to face their guest.

“What did you say your name was again?” The man smiled at him, ice blue eyes not really reflecting any warmth from the expression.

“My name’s Gabriel. Gabriel Gowdel.”


	29. Chapter 29

Running. Green, the occasional flash of red, but most of all black. _Lots_ of black. The entire world was a void of darkness, save the path he was currently running down.

Ace was panting hard, breath coming more in ragged gasps than anything else. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for his pursuer. The corridor of hedges behind him appeared empty and ran straight, seemingly endless.

Ace’s breath burned in his chest and he felt his panic rising. He looked about wildly, searching for whatever it was that he _knew_ was chasing him. The fear seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere and Ace knew nothing except _run._

The hedges of the Queen’s maze were whipping past him, but no matter how far he ran the corridor never branched out into others or made any kind of turn, just continuing straight seemingly forever. Ace’s lungs felt like they were on _fire_ , but he knew he could not stop, knew something was behind him and to stop would mean…something. Something terrible. Ace turned to look over his shoulder again.

He could see nothing behind him, but the terror still raced firm and unyielding in his mind and he would not stop running. Turning back to face forwards, he only had just enough time to skid to a stop before careening off the edge of a sheer cliff.

It was like someone had just drawn a line and cut the world away. Before him the blackness of the void stretched on forever and ever, wanting to swallow him up into that eternity of dark. Ace stood, panting, staring out into that void.

There was nowhere else to run.

Ace turned slowly around, fear so acute he was nearly choking on it. His heart hammered erratically in his chest, physically _hurting_ from exertion and terror. His breathing was ragged, coming in gasps that never filled his lungs with enough air. It was like he had been trying to run in a cloud of wood smoke. The air here burned his lungs and smelled like raw meat and rotting fruit.

There was a massive hand behind him, the skin pale and the fingernails long and neglected. It was a left hand. An iron nail had been driven through the joint of each finger, and on the back of the hand a massive patch of skin was missing, the edge of the injury ragged and uneven as if it had been torn off. The muscles underneath tensed and flexed with the movements of the hand, and the injury wasn’t bleeding.

The hand was getting closer and Ace had nowhere to run.

It was reaching towards him, seemingly meaning to grab him. It was big enough to do it on its own, the pointer finger being about two and a half times as long as Ace was tall. It was carefully blocking the entirety of the hedged corridor, and Ace knew he wouldn’t be able to slip past it.

His terror only continued to grow as the hand got ever closer. When it was within grabbing distance it stopped and began reaching for Ace. He knew he should run, knew he should do something, _anything_ to get away, but he couldn’t.

Ace couldn’t move.

He was frozen in place, unable to run or fight back, helplessly watching as the hand slowly grabbed him, picking him up between thumb and forefinger like an interesting insect.

And then Ace saw the master of the hand.

Edward Hare looked different. And not just because he was enormous, the hand in proportion with the rest of his body. He looked dead. Looked like he had been dead for months. The skin of his chest was mostly _gone_ , like it had been ripped away. His sternum had been broken and his ribs stuck out in all directions away from each other, looking like nothing so much as a spider. His lungs had been pulled away from each other as well, leaning against the splayed ribs.

Beneath, in the center of Hare’s chest cavity, Ace could see Hare’s heart. Or at least…where the heart of a human would have been. It wasn’t so with Hare. Hanging in the place of his heart was an apple. The fruit was shriveled, rotting, and Ace could see the bulges of maggots moving around beneath its skin. It wafted the sickening sweet scent of decaying fruit across the air, the scent forcing itself up Ace’s nose and into his brain.

Hare’s head was simply _gone._

His body was seated in a chair up against a wall, and the wall behind Hare where his head should have been was as smooth and even as the other walls, save the splat of Hare’s brains, the bits of skull, and the blood. It was like someone had smashed a melon against the wall. The object that had flattened Hare’s head was still there, seemingly embedded in the wall and hiding what was left of Hare’s head, the skin and other less-splattable bits still trapped beneath it.

It was a gramophone.

It was still intact and was the only thing of any real color in the room, the brass of the horn shining in the ambiguous light. The body was bright and well polished, and looked like it was made out of high quality wood that had been stained to a glowing warm brown. There was a record resting neatly on the turntable, and the polished black wax of the disk was shiny. The stylus was poised to play, already resting in the first groove of the record. The gramophone was in perfect condition and didn’t seem to have taken any damage from the impact that smashed Hare’s head. It didn’t even appear to have any blood or bone on it. Hare’s other hand was on the crank of the gramophone, gripping the handle like he meant to turn it to make the device play.

Ace was held in front of it, eyes wide, horrified at the grisly scene. He still could not move, could not struggle, couldn’t even make himself look away. The sight made him sick and if he’d had anything in his stomach Ace had no doubt he would have thrown up.

Hare’s right hand began cranking the gramophone.

No sound came out at first, just the small scratchy noises associated with wax records. After about 15 seconds of silence, Ace began to hear another noise. It was quiet, barely audible, but in the near complete silence of the room Ace could make it out.

Breathing.

It was slow and even, like the breathing of someone who’s sleeping. There was the faint scuffling of movement, like the person who was recording the sound was moving around. When they settled down again, the breathing sound was louder, like the sound-capturer was closer.

“I can see you sleeping.” The voice was directly to Ace’s right and it scared him out of his skin. Ace automatically tried to jump away, but could not because of the grip of the hand. Ace twisted his neck to try to look for whoever spoke, but could find no one. The noise of the slow breathing continued from the gramophone, but Ace knew the voice hadn’t come from there.

“Pussycat, pussycat wherever have you been?

Did you go to Wonderland to visit with the Queen?

Pussycat, pussycat what did you do there?

You ran, the little bitch you are. You should have just stayed there.” A voice sung out of the gramophone, sounding hollow and dead.  After it finished, the near silence resumed, save for the quiet breathing. Several moments passed of the breathing, Ace tense and anxious. The gramophone didn’t speak again, and there was no sound in the room save the breathing recorded on the record and the quiet scratchy noises of the wax disk. A low chuckle sounded from directly to Ace’s right again and he again automatically flinched, heart leaping in his chest.

“You think you got away, don’t you?” Another laugh. “That’s funny, Ace. And here you were so pessimistic, saying your naïveté was gone.” The different voice on the record started up again, jolting Ace again.

“Pussycat, pussycat, when did you get so blind?

You should have known your sanity would be hardest find.

Pussycat, Pussycat, you think that you got free?

There is no free for pussycats, and caged you’ll always be.”

The voice to Ace’s right drew closer to Ace’s ear, becoming a mere whisper. Ace felt the hot breath on his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was frozen in place again, unable to pull away. His heart at this point felt like it was crawling up his throat, choking him with his own fear. When it spoke, the voice was barely a whisper and the voice’s breath was hot on Ace’s ear and neck.

“You haven’t gotten away from anything, Ace, and you never will. You can’t run away from me anymore, remember?” Ace felt again the pain of his legs breaking as the memory forced itself through his mind but he was unable to scream, his lips sealed. Tears bit at his eyes behind clenched eyelids. The pain had only barely begun to subside when the voice whispered into his ear again.

“You’ll never get away, Ace. Never.” Ace felt again the arching pain of the 45 lashes on the first day of his imprisonment, felt his skin splitting beneath the whip’s length. “It won’t matter how far you run or however many times you or your friends may ‘kill’ me, you’ll never get away.” The acid burned his shoulder, tracing down the letters that had been carved into his flesh. ‘ _Edward Hare._ ’ “It won’t matter who your allies are or what protection you may think you have. You’ll never be able to truly escape.” Ace felt his fingers snapping individually, one after the other.

“There will never be freedom from memory. The seeds of terror, once sewn, can never be unmade.” Ace wanted to whimper, wanted to sob, wanted to break as again he felt a hand trail slowly down his back, felt fingers tangled through his hair, felt the pain of being torn in two. Again he felt that complete desolation, that complete _worthlessness_ , felt that utter disgust and all-consuming self-loathing. A tear slid slowly down his face from his left eye. It flowed the wrong way, though, trailing over his temple and into his hair like he was horizontal, not vertical. A tiny noise made it up his throat as well; too small to be a whimper but too fragile to be anything else. The voice continued over the memories, complementing them, enhancing them. “Nothing will ever save you. There is no way out of hell.” Ace was forced to watch that which he’d never seen before as Sabo’s face was separated painstakingly from muscle and bone. Ace’s imagination colored in the grisly details and his memories provided the screams of pain, the cries for help, home, and salvation that would never be answered. Sabo was bleeding more than should be possible, the blood never stopping even after the screams did, slowly filling the room and Ace was drowning, sinking in that red sea of guilt and loneliness and heart-shattering _grief_. He ran out of air and inhaled a lungful of that red death tasting the iron tang of blood and he knew he was going to die and he deserved to die and he _wanted to die, oh God please just let me die!_ Darkness closed slowly over Ace’s red-filled vision. The low laugh echoed in his ear one last time as Ace sunk in this darkness. Ace no longer felt like he was drowning, but rather that there was something about his throat, a noose tied around his neck, condemning and binding him.

“You haven’t gotten away from anything, _Ace._ ”

The noose tightened.

 

* * *

 

Ace sat bolt upright in the bed, a ragged scream tearing itself out of his throat. He was drenched in sweat and his breathing was fast and uneven. He stared straight ahead, chest heaving, eyes wide. He was shaking, shoulders, hands, his whole body trembling. He tried to force his breathing to slow, taking in great gulps of air, his wildly hammering heart practically bruising his ribs. Distantly he heard the door open, but didn’t turn to look until Shanks sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him with worry bordering on fear in his face.

“Ace! What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Shanks gently grabbed Ace’s shoulders and Ace automatically shied away from the contact, head snapping to the left to look at Shanks. His eyes were wide, terrified, so scared he didn’t even recognize Shanks or where he was. Shanks slowly lowered his hands, trying not to show the heartbreak at Ace’s fear of him. Just what did that bastard _do_ to him to make him _this scared?_ Shanks spoke gently, trying to calm Ace. “It’s okay, Ace. You’re safe. You’re free. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.” Ace swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, clearly making an effort to calm down. A shudder passed down his spine. He brought up his hands and pressed his palms against the sides of his head, pressing down on his skull, trying to push out the images of his nightmare and hold in his flagging sanity all at once. His breathing gradually became more even, but his trembling refused to subside.

Shanks watched him gently. He wanted to reach out and hold Ace, but he didn’t want to make Ace even more scared and based on his earlier reaction, physical contact wasn’t the best way to support Ace right now. After another moment of silence, Shanks opened his mouth.

“Bad dream?” Ace nodded mutely, eyes still closed, hands still pressed against his scalp. Shanks swallowed. “I’ve heard talking about it can help.” Truthfully, Shanks was scared of what Ace would say. His imagination had painted a grisly scene based on Ace’s injuries, but to hear about what had _actually happened_ while he took too long to get there would be more painful by far. The fingers of Ace’s left hand dug into his scalp, his ruined right hand remaining still as he tried not to aggravate the broken fingers. Ace shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to even think about it. Most of all, though, he didn’t want Shanks to see how close he was to breaking. Didn’t want Shanks to see how completely _gone_ the boy Shanks once called friend was. Didn’t want him to have to see the ugly _monster_ of pain and depravity, this miserable, disgusting _wretch_ that Ace had become. But his mouth got ahead of him, his subconscious unable to hold back the flood.

“I’m…I can’t…” Ace shuddered again. Memories replayed themselves before his eyes. Ace redoubled the pressure on his skull, trying to push them back. He swallowed thickly. “I can hear them laughing. I can feel the whip. I can taste Sabo’s blood in my mouth...” Ace shook his head violently. “Make it stop! I don’t want to see it again!” Another shudder passed down his spine, and he bowed over, curling into a near fetal position as he clutched at his head. “Make them stop looking at me like that. Make them stop hurting me like this! If they’re all dead, why do I feel their hands, why do I see the darkness in each face, why do I not feel _human_ anymore?” Ace lay there, shuddering, breathing ragged and uneven.

Shanks was staring at him with wide eyes. He had no clue what the hell he was supposed to do now. He wanted to help and comfort Ace, but he was so far beyond out of his depth he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about doing that. “Ace…” Shanks reached out slowly and gently placed his hand on Ace’s shoulder. Ace flinched away at first, but didn’t completely retreat. Shanks’ voice was soft. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say, but he was going to do his damndest to make sure Ace wasn’t scared anymore. “Ace, you’re not a prisoner anymore. Nobody’s ever going to hurt you like that ever again. What happened to you…it’ll never completely go away, but I know you and I know you’re stronger than it. You overcame everything they threw at you, you survived, and now you’re even stronger. Scars never completely go away, but they stop hurting after a while, right? You’re free, _safe_ now and no matter what I will _never_ let anyone hurt you like that again.” Ace snorted.

“Free? _Safe?_ No, Shanks. I'm not.” He gave a humorless, bitter laugh. “I haven’t gotten away from anything. There’s a noose around my neck and I don’t know what’s going to kill me first, the fear, the noose, or the suspense of waiting to _finally_ die.”

“Ace-“

“First it was the memories and the knowledge that I had to protect Luffy that kept me going. Then, giving Sabo the home that he deserved. When he died, so did that. Hope went next. Built up and then dashed out. Memory followed shortly after, right after God died. And now? Now sanity is leaving me too. Then what? What will I have left to cling to, when that finally leaves me for good? Noth-“

“Me.” Shanks cut Ace off, looking at him seriously. “You’ll always, _always_ have me. And Luffy. I don’t know what you think you’ve lost, but I know that you’re not the type to just roll over and give up.” Ace flinched minutely at Shanks’ word choice, but Shanks didn’t notice. “I’m going to be here to support you as long as you need me to until you can support yourself. You’re strong, Ace. Stronger than any of those marines knew and you _will_ make it through this.” Ace was looking Shanks in the eye now, and Shanks could tell he was fighting not to cry. Shanks, moving slowly,  wrapped Ace in a gentle hug. Ace momentarily panicked, his mind automatically responding to the pain it had been taught was coming, and hated, hated, _hated_ himself for that fear. After a few moments of terror, Ace shut his eyes and buried his face in Shanks’ shoulder, shame burning through him. He was still terrified. He couldn’t _help_ it. He was _scared of Shanks._

“I’m pathetic. You’ve been, you’re _being_ so kind to me and every time you so much as look at me I flinch.” A sob tried to force its way up Ace’s throat, but he wouldn’t allow it to escape. _I hate it! I hate this! I’m scared of even Shanks and_ **I can’t make myself stop!** _What’s_ **wrong** _with me that I’m scared of even him, the one that saved me, that’s been my friend for_ **years?** “I…I don’t want to be broken, Shanks. I just…I just wish this had never happened. I wish…” Ace knew he sounded childish but he couldn’t help it. “I just want to go home.” Shanks shushed him gently, reaching one hand up from behind Ace’s back to softly stroke the back of Ace’s head comfortingly. Again Ace had the instinct to shy away and he tensed at first and, again, hated himself for it.

After several quiet moments, Shanks released him and leaned back, smiling at him gently. “You’re going to be okay, Ace. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ace set his jaw and nodded firmly. He forced a smile, the expression feeling foreign and strange. Shanks seemed relieved to see it on his face, though, so Ace left that mask on.

Ricky had been standing unobtrusively in the doorway, trying not to intrude. When Shanks pulled back, he approached. He pushed his glasses a little further up his nose and came to stand beside Ace. For half a moment Ricky saw blind terror in his eyes as he came between Ace and the rest of the room. Ricky, realizing his mistake, sidestepped silently to the side, giving Ace what could have been an escape route. Even though Ace couldn’t run with the shape his legs were in, Ricky understood that cornering Ace in any way, shape, or form would be frightening to him to say the least. Ricky could tell Ace had a lot of subconscious triggers for fear right now. Thus far he had seen Ace’s wild aversion to physical contact, general paranoia, and, now, Ace’s need to always have a way out. All of these were perfectly explainable, given what had happened to him, but that didn’t mean it didn't hurt to see their friend like this. Ricky did his best to smile reassuringly at Ace.

“You’re going to get better now, Ace. Once we reset the bones in your legs it’ll only be about 7 weeks before they’re completely healed. Your fingers will take less time, only about 4 weeks. We’re going to have you completely better again in no time.”

“How soon until I can walk?” Ricky blinked and considered the question.

“Minimum? About…3 weeks. It’ll hurt if you try to walk that soon, but you’ll be able to do it. It’d be better for you to stay immobilized as much as possible, though.” Ace nodded absently. Ricky took a deep breath. This was the hard part.

“I’m going to have to give you a lot of stitches, Ace. And setting the bones will be painful. I’m going to put you under anesthesia for the procedure, but when you wake up it’ll still probably hurt quite a bit.” Ace’s head snapped to the side, eyes focused solely on Ricky. His eyes were wide and he looked scared again.

“Don’t put me under. Please.” Ricky stared at Ace in shock for a moment.

“Ace, I’m going to be resetting the major bones in your legs. That alone will be almost as if not more painful than the original break was. You want to be unconscious for something like that.” Ace shook his head.

“No. No I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well…I’ve lost a lot of blood, it wouldn’t necessarily be safe for you to put me under, right?” Ace hoped they wouldn’t see through the lie. In truth, Ace’s subconscious was far, _far_ worse than any pain this could bring. His memories hurt him more, and if he was in forced unconsciousness for that long…he would dream. He would remember. He couldn’t tell them that, though. He didn’t want them to see just how far gone he was. He had already made up his mind. There were things he simply wasn’t ever going to tell Ricky, Shanks, _anyone_ about. It would be better to simply put all of this behind him and never talk, never even think about it again. Ace had seen the pain it brought to Shanks and then Ricky, his weakness, his current fragility, and had resolved to shut that away. His pain was his alone; he wouldn’t allow it to hurt others. He could wear a mask; cover that part of him that was simply _gone_ with fake smiles and convenient lies. He could tell Shanks and the others already felt terrible enough about the condition he was in, why make it worse? They, Shanks especially, didn’t need to know the details. Didn’t need to know he was raped. Didn’t need to know that something in him had died in that cage. Didn’t need to know how terrified Ace still was, of Shanks, of the crew, of the freedom he thought, somehow _knew_ was only fleeting.

Ricky was torn. Ace did have a point, but with the reduced dosage he had planned on giving Ace the risk was minimal to the point of being obsolete. All the same, though, if he had made a miscalculation Ace could _die._ Ricky didn’t want that responsibility, but he didn’t want Ace to suffer any more than he already had. Ricky bit his lip. He looked to Shanks, seeking guidance. Shanks was looking back evenly. The choice was his. He was the doctor, he knew best. Ricky took a deep breath.

“…Okay. I’ll be using regional anesthesia, but it’ll still hurt, probably. I’ll have on me a dosage of general anesthesia and if at any point during the procedure you change your mind I will use it, okay?” Ace nodded. Ricky turned to look to Shanks. “I’m sorry, Captain, but you should probably leave.”

Shanks nodded and stood. He walked to the door, looking over his shoulder and smiling at Ace one last time before closing it. Ace fake-smiled back at him as the door swung shut. Ricky turned back to Ace.

“I’ll occasionally ask you what level of pain you’re at from 1-10. If you ever get above a six I’ll use the general anesthesia, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, Ace.” Ace forced a smile.

“You won’t.” His eyes darkened. “If there’s one thing I’ve gained it’s pain tolerance.” Ricky sighed, then nodded. He walked across the infirmary to a series of cabinets against one wall. He rummaged through them for several moments, then returned to Ace’s side. He pulled over a small table and lay what he would need on it.  He watched Ace’s face as he set the items on the table. Suture needle and thread. Heavy bandages. Diluted rubbing alcohol. Syringe. None of these particularly frightened Ace. It was only the last items that caught his eye.

A hammer and a wide, blunt chisel.

Ricky saw how Ace’s eyes were focused on the hammer and chisel. He took a deep breath.

“I gave you a quick physical examination while you were asleep. The bones in your legs have already begun recalcifying and they’re doing it wrong. I have to rebreak them if you’re ever going to walk again.” Ace swallowed the fear that had begun to rise in his throat and nodded. Ricky, sensing Ace’s growing fright, kneeled down so he could meet his eyes evenly. “Are you absolutely _certain_ you don’t want me to knock you out?” Ace met his eyes and nodded again. He was scared, yes. Instinctively terrified. Something about this room, its cold, sterile nature, reminded him of his cage. Ace wouldn’t admit to that, though. Wouldn’t say any of it out loud.

Especially not how much Ricky terrified him.

Ace hated himself for that fear, couldn’t believe how completely irrational and unjustified his terror was, but he could not deny that it was there. And, no matter how much he reasoned, rationalized, or generally beat wildly against it _he could not make it stop_. Ricky carried himself with the same professional precision Edward Hare had. Every move he made was intentional, especially when it came to his movements around Ace. _I’m just his patient. He’s moving around me like a doctor, like his profession tells him to. The same is true of Edward Hare, I guess. In some sick, twisted way I suppose I was his patient too._

“Ace, would you prefer I started with your legs or did that later?” Ricky was looking anxious, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with Ace being awake. With any kind of surgery or procedure this big he’d always knocked out his patients before. He’d reset, even rebroken bones before, but never on a child, and never on a conscious, _terrified_ child. Ace took a deep breath, forcibly shoving his fear away long enough to glue on another mask, this one a calm, collected, and cool face made of steel, unyielding and inexpressive. His voice was calm, his eyes firm.

“Fix my legs first.” Ricky nodded, looking concernedly into Ace’s eyes. He stood from his crouched position by Ace’s side and turned to the table. He hesitated for a moment, then took up the syringe of regional anesthesia and turned back to Ace. Ace looked away as Ricky injected him with the drug. It worked fast, Ace could already feel sensation fading from his leg. Ricky turned back to the table, placed the syringe back on it, then took up the hammer and chisel. He looked almost queasy and Ace could practically feel the tension radiating off of him in waves. He took a deep breath, seemingly to calm his nerves or at least force them down for the time being. He placed the end of the chisel against the harsh bend in Ace’s right leg, angling it a bit. As the cool metal touched his skin, Ace’s heartbeat reached a record pace. He was terrified because it was going to be just like it was with Hare, the same break, the same agonizing pain, the same helplessness and inability to fight back or run away. His mind was racing, begging him to push Ricky away, to drag himself across the floor if need be, anything to escape this because Ricky must be just like Hare, Ricky must be intentionally hurting him, Ricky must be planning to further maim, injure, murder him, even. Ace pushed hard with his right thumb against his broken index finger, trying to use the pain to shove back these thoughts that he couldn’t believe he was actually thinking. Ace hated the part of him that whispered these things, the part of him that wanted to curl up in the corner and cower, begging not to be found while screaming that all friends wear masks and all masks have nothing beneath them.

Ace felt like a traitor.

He allowed none of his inner turmoil to show on his face, his mask didn’t have expressions, after all, and steel doesn’t bend.  Ricky, after positioning the chisel, looked up and met Ace’s eyes again. Ace nodded evenly, taking a deep breath.

“Countdown.” Ricky nodded.

“Three.” Ace took in a deep breath and turned his head so he was looking at the ceiling.

“Two.” Ace exhaled slowly, allowing his eyes to close gently. He began editing his mask, only altering its stoic expression slightly. He removed the mouth, leaving just a smooth steel face between nose and chin.

Ace would not, _could_ not scream.

“One.”


	30. Chapter 30

Ace jolted awake, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. He sat there, waiting for the terror to somewhat recede, trying to shove the most recent memory-gone-worse from his mind. He tasted blood, and realized he had bit into his tongue. Slowly he loosened his clenched jaw and gently probed the punctures his teeth had made with a finger. They were fairly deep, but the bleeding was already slowing.

Ace took a deep breath and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. His hands, even his shoulders, shook. After a moment he pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. The room was dark and Ace sat in silence, the infirmary’s quiet being broken only by his uneven breathing. He turned himself and leaned back against the wall, facing so he could see the entirety of the room. Being able to see everything reassured him somewhat, nothing could sneak up on him now. The only entrance to the room was the door that led to the hallway, which was slightly to Ace’s right and he could see clearly. Nobody could enter the room without him seeing them instantly.

His eyes were focused on that door, watching for even the tiniest movement. His heartbeat began increasing again. He was certain, completely convinced that something or someone was about to come through that door. Any second, any moment now the handle would turn, the door open, and in would stride Hare to deliver Ace back to hell, to drive him deeper and deeper into pain, desolation, and madness.

 _Stop it. Nobody’s going to come through that door. Don’t be ridiculous._ Ace tried to reason himself out of his fear, and forced his rattled nerves to settle somewhat. His eyes, though, refused to leave the door. After a moment Ace tore his eyes away, searching for some kind of distraction.

The infirmary was dark, and Ace could only just make out the details of the room due to the weak light that filtered in under the hall door. There were no windows in the infirmary, but Ace assumed it was nighttime as Shanks had bid Ace goodnight before leaving…several hours ago? Ace couldn’t be sure. His dreams could last hours or only instants.

Over the last two weeks, Ace’s narcolepsy had become his greatest enemy. Even when he only fell asleep for moments his memories were there, biting into him, eating away at him, devouring his mind like worms. Ace had hoped that as time passed the nightmare-memories would fade or gradually lessen, but if anything they were getting worse. Everything was getting worse. The images weren’t limited to memory anymore, and his imagination wasn’t as innocent as it used to be.

Ace shook his head, trying to clear it of his dark thoughts. _No. Things_ will _get better. These things just…take time. That’s all. It’s just taking a little while. You_ will _get better._ After that first accidental breakdown in front of Shanks, Ace had begun covering up most of what had happened as well as the nightmares that plagued his sleep. Ricky, after apparently doing some research on mental health, had been trying to get Ace to talk to him about everything either trying to psycho-analyze him or just as general therapy, but Ace was a proficient liar, especially with all this recent practice. Ricky didn’t know about the nightmares, didn’t know the full extent of the atrocities Ace had endured, and remained blissfully ignorant of Ace’s current pathetically fragile state of mind.

Ace’s masks came on easy now, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to take them off in front of others again.

Ace took a deep breath. Since he didn’t plan on sleeping again for a while, he might as well get something done.

The bones in Ace’s fingers had been reset two weeks ago and Ricky had him started on some basic physical therapy. Apparently it was only the phalanges in his fingers that had been broken, so the physical therapy wasn’t as extensive as it could have been. Nevertheless, Ace was determined to have his right hand, his dominant hand, fully functional again. He had attacked the physical therapy with a passion, facing it with determination Ricky hadn’t seen even in most adults. Ricky had told him that he would have to do activities for both strength and agility so as to get bones that were as strong as before and still had a full range of motion.

Currently Ricky had Ace working on a strength activity. He was supposed to squeeze a fairly soft ball as hard as he could for as long as he could. Ace reached for said ball, catching himself halfway through reaching for it with his left hand and making himself do it with his right instead. At this point in the healing process, he could squeeze the ball fairly hard for about 15 seconds at a time, but Ace refused to give up and was deeply determined to get his hand fully healed.

He also had several agility activities. He was supposed to start trying to do normal things with his right hand, just to practice. Holding forks, pencils, picking up small objects, all of these things were supposedly helpful. Ricky had challenged him to be able to flip a pen between his fingers by the end of the week. In actuality, Ace could do more. He could hold a pen accurately and was now trying to draw. His hand usually started to hurt like a bitch after about 10 minutes, but Ace could endure it for longer. He had actually become quite good, his art evolving from mere doodles to accurate still-lifes and, now, he was working on capturing people. He had a natural talent for art.

Ricky had caught him drawing today and had been shocked by Ace’s range of motion in his hand. He’d congratulated Ace on his progress and promised next week they’d move to something harder: origami. This required a level of dexterity higher than even sketching in pencil. Well, Ricky said so anyway. Ace was convinced the subtleties of shading were harder.

Ace squeezed absently at the ball in his hand, holding the position for 20 seconds before releasing. The repetition of the act was sufficiently clearing his mind of the nightmare images that plagued his sleep, and he soon found himself falling into a near trance.

Hours passed in that simple state of _being_ and Ace wasn’t truly aware of them. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, the time ticking by in increments of 20 seconds of squeezing the ball, 25 of rest.

It was the noise of the door opening that roused Ace from his stupor. He was instantly aware, eyes focusing on the door as the handle turned, then the wooden door slowly swung inwards. Ricky strode into the room, and Ace’s mind relaxed. Ace easily slipped on his smiling ceramic mask.

“Good morning, Ricky.” Ricky smiled at Ace.

“Good morning, Ace. I brought your breakfast.” Ace glanced at the tray of food Ricky had brought. Sausage, eggs, fruit, and a glass of water. Ace had begun to regain the weight he lost, but he still had a long way to go and was hungry almost constantly. Ricky was careful with his portion sizes, but refeeding syndrome was becoming less and less likely and the doctor was growing more and more lenient. Ace accepted the tray eagerly and tucked into his breakfast with gusto.

Ricky turned away from Ace and moved over to his desk. He shuffled through his papers, coming to rest on a specific file. Ricky had been taking notes during his and Ace’s therapy sessions. Ricky was sure there was _some_ kind of trauma that Ace was suffering from. You just don’t go through something like this without _any_ adverse affects at _all._ Ricky felt like he was missing something. Something monumentally, gargantuanly large that was absolutely _central_ to Ace’s recovery. Ricky flipped through the sheets of notes with mild frustration. He’d gathered very little information. It was strange…he felt like he should know more than this by now, but no question he asked Ace had ever brought any kind of powerful reaction from the boy. Ace skimmed over details when not specifically asked for them. He participated in their sessions, sure, but still…Ricky was doing something wrong if he only had this much information this late in the game.

In truth, most of Ricky’s notes revolved around that very first conversation between Ace and Shanks when Ace had first woken up. That had been helpful to Ricky. As terrible as it sounded, even in his own mind, Ricky needed Ace to break like that again. If Ace was ever going to completely heal, he was going to need to be completely honest with himself and with others. Ricky could understand why Ace would have trust issues, but why would Ace hide things from _them?_ They were his friends, his saviors. Ricky had to get inside Ace’s walls, needed to get some kind of reaction out of him. The way Ace had been responding to therapy…it was like he didn’t even have a problem. But that, frankly, _wasn’t true_ after what Ricky had observed Ace’s first day. Ace had a lot he needed to say, but for some reason Ricky couldn’t comprehend, he just wasn’t saying it. Ricky sighed and lifted up the file, grabbing a pen off his desk as well. He turned back to Ace and smiled.

Ace was about halfway through his breakfast when Ricky turned back around. The doctor grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Ace’s bed. He sat down in the chair somewhat lazily, resting his left ankle on his right knee. He balanced the file on his left knee, pen poised to write. After several moments of silence in which Ace finished his breakfast and Ricky apparently reexamined the file, Ricky turned to Ace, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“So, Ace. Today we’re going to try something a little different. Have you ever heard of something called hypno-therapy?” Ace shook his head slowly. “Well, the general idea is that I put you in a kind of trance. While in that trance I can communicate directly with your psyche. It can be helpful for patients with any kind of repressed memories. You say you weren’t aware of the past two weeks, that you were in some kind of mental suspended animation?” Ace nodded. He hadn’t told Ricky, hadn’t told anyone, about Wonderland. Ricky, Shanks, none of them would understand exactly what made Wonderland so beautiful. All they would see was the violence, the ferocity. Ace was afraid of what they’d think of him if they saw what kind of a place his mind was. He was afraid they’d be afraid of him. He didn’t want that, so he kept quiet. “Well, will it be alright with you for me to put you in this trance?” Ace considered the question.

“Will I be…aware during the questioning?”

“Not exactly. Technically you’ll be awake, but you’ll have no memory of the questioning or your response once you come out of the trance. Ace considered his response. He could technically refuse, but that might raise questions that were hard to answer. But…if he wasn’t aware of what he was saying he might let something slip that he didn’t want out in the open. He couldn’t be sure what he would say, didn’t know how far down his lies could go. He considered it, then came to a conclusion. He’d just have to take the risk. If Ricky was suspicious Ace was hiding something it would be harder to keep any of his secrets shut away. Ace nodded assent at Ricky.

Ricky pulled an object from his pocket. It was a simple weight on a string, which he intended to use as a pendulum. He raised the object, holding it so the weight was even with Ace’s eyes.

“I’m going to swing this back and forth. I want you to follow it with your eyes. As you fall into the trance, you may feel sleepy or lethargic and the whole world will probably feel a little surreal. Just relax. When I clap my hands twice, you’ll wake up.” Ace nodded and Ricky began swinging the weight back and forth. Ace’s eyes tracked it left to right and back again, over and over. Time passed, but Ace wasn’t really aware of it.

Ace felt like he was sinking into airdarksmoke again, like Caterpillar was making him dream again. His mind felt like it was sinking in honey, and he felt warm. Ace wasn’t sure when his eyes had stopped moving, but he came to realize he wasn’t looking at the weight anymore. The whole room seemed like it was faintly, faintly glowing, and the edges of everything seemed softened…almost blurred.

“Alright, Ace. I’m going to list words and I want you to give me one word in response that is the word you most associate with that word. Make sense? For example, if I say “pen” you may say “paper.”” Ace nodded sluggishly. Ricky took a deep breath. “Alright, then. Let’s get started. We’ll start simple, then work our way up. Some words may seem obscure, but I want you to give me truly your first reaction.” Ace nodded again. Ricky glanced down at his papers. “Sky.” Ace’s reply came easy.

“Blue.”

“Water.”

“Liquid.”

“Wood.”

“Trees.”

“Ocean.” Something distant touched Ace’s eyes.

“Freedom.” Ricky nodded and scribbled something down on his page.

“Ship.”

“Sailor.”

“Iron.” Ace’s eyes hardened slightly.

“Hot.” Ricky glanced between Ace’s face and his bandaged arm where Ace’s finger was absently tracing down the place where Ricky knew he had been branded. He looked back to his paper and wrote something down.

“Alright, that was a good start. Now we’re going to move onto adjectives and emotions, okay? Again, just tell me a word you immediately associate with whatever I say.” Ace nodded. “Happy.”

“Home.” Ricky raised his eyebrows and jotted down a quick note.

“Compassion.” A quiet smile came to Ace’s face.

“Mother.” Ricky noted the smile on Ace’s face and how his eyes lit with the expression as well, a rare occurrence these days.

“Companionship.”

“Sabo.”

“I’m sorry?” Ace looked Ricky in the eye.

“Sabo. It is-…” Ace looked down. “… _was_ my brother’s name.” There was no point in hiding Sabo. Shanks and the rest already knew about him and they knew he was dead. They didn’t know how he died or how Hare had used Sabo’s face to tear Ace’s world apart. Ricky nodded and dropped the subject. They had talked about Sabo before. It was one of the few things that got a deep emotional reaction out of Ace.

“…Let’s move on, shall we?” Ace nodded. “Alright. Um…” Ricky glanced at his paper again. “Justice.”

“Lies.” Ricky looked at Ace curiously. Ace had practically spat the word.

“Truth.”

“Nonexistent.” Ricky was studying Ace closely, confusion bordering on concern covering his features. Ace was staring at the ceiling, face hard. He couldn’t help the little truths that were slipping out of his mouth like poison.

“Order.”

“Moronic.”

“Love.”

“Ineffective.” Ricky’s face showed open shock at that one. He ventured another.

“Fear.”

“Effective.” Ricky had been writing down the last few responses word for word as well as providing a quick shorthand commentary. He’d have to go over this bit again later, Ace was being much more frank than usual. It…It almost scared Ricky.

“Guilt.”

“Aaron.” Ricky looked at Ace in confusion, but no explanation was forthcoming. Ricky thought it better to continue on while he had this more open side of Ace available.

“Humanity.”

“Crabs.” Again Ricky looked at Ace in confusion, and again Ace provided no answer.

“Shame” Ace opened his mouth, about to speak, but then hesitated. Something in his mind stirred and made him hesitate. There was something…something he wasn’t supposed to say. Ace’s mouth was partly open, pausing in the formation of those two syllables. The part of him that had stirred discarded the word he had planned on saying and replaced it with another.

“Helpless.” Ricky could see Ace’s inner turmoil growing and thought it good to wrap this up. He had a lot he had to think about, and Ace looked tired, almost drained.

“Sleep.”

“Dream.”

“Religion.”

“Dead.” Ricky blinked at that one.

“…God.”

“Abandonment.”

“Heaven.”

“Unattainable.” Ace was looking almost bored, his face almost entirely blank. These were easy. His mind sunk deeper, settling itself more comfortably in the ambiguous softness.

“Beauty.”

“Roses.”

“Music.”

“Gramophone.” The answers were just rolling off Ace’s tongue. He put no effort, no thought into them. His brain felt like a hive of bees that had been doused in wood smoke.

“Art.”

“Crystal.”

“Elegance.”

“Pocket-watch, tick tick tick.” Ricky raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask.

“Savage.”

“Savage?” Ricky nodded. Ace’s eyes, unfocused and almost cloudy, centered on Ricky’s face for the first time since the beginning of this exercise. He looked confused and tilted his head to the side. “Savage?” Ricky nodded again. Ace’s eyebrows remained gently scrunched, the picture of bafflement.

“…You never said you’d be asking about names, doctor.”

 

* * *

 

Ace opened his eyes slowly. He groaned and sat up, raising a hand to his head. _Was I sleeping? Why does my head feel so weird? Why is it so cold here?_ Ace rubbed absently at his head, but froze when his hand found something sticky in his hair. He lowered his hand in confusion. His eyes widened.

His fingers were covered in half-dried blood.

Ace looked down at his body and felt his heart stop. It was…It couldn’t be. There was just no way. No more was the white of bandages, no more was that that healing pale skin of fabric that concealed nearly everything that had happened to Ace. Even the stitches were gone. Instead, a much different sight greeted Ace’s eyes.

His injuries were all back, exactly as they had been on the day Shanks had rescued him.

His ribs stood out against his bruised and slashed skin. He was thin almost to the point of complete emaciation. All of the gashes, cuts, bruises, and burns stood out against Ace’s skin like a horrifying mosaic.

He was exactly as he’d been in Hare’s cage.

Ace realized he was sitting on a wooden floor and the boards were familiar to him. _No…No, please no. This can’t be happening. I…no, I refuse to accept this!_ Ace swallowed, trying to push back his growing terror.

The floorboards were the same as the ones that had been in his cell on Hare’s ship.

Ace shook his head, in complete denial. _No. I…Why would I…_ Ace felt his heart constrict harshly in his chest. _It…It was all…It was all a dream? Shanks saving me, Ricky healing me, winning my freedom again? A dream? A lie? How… Why… N-No!_ Ace was downright shaking now. He couldn’t believe it. He was back. Back in his cell. Back in his cage. Back in his own personal, inescapable hell.

There was a light coming from nearby, and Ace could see the shadow of the bars being cast in his direction. That meant something Ace was terrified to even _think_ about.

It meant someone was down here with him. And the only person that ever came down was Hare.

“Good morning.” The words made Ace’s breath freeze in his chest. There was something off, something unexpected about the voice, but in Ace’s current state of near panic he couldn’t decide what it was. Slowly, hesitantly, Ace raised his head. His heart stopped in his chest.

Sabo stood outside the bars. Not the living, breathing poet that Ace had known, though. No. This wasn’t that boy at all.

This was a monster.

Sabo wore the same clothes he had been wearing while he was alive, but they were different now. The stained dress-shirt was buttoned unevenly, the wrong hole matched with the wrong button. Ace could see some of Sabo’s skin because of the dishevelment of the shirt. His skin was pale because of long-term imprisonment in darkness, and the purple, yellow, and almost greenish bruises stood out against his skin like colored lights.

Sabo’s pants weren’t in such great shape either. They had once been about knee length, but now maybe 4 inches had been torn off of the left leg. The pants were stained, crusted with dried blood. Sabo’s belt was unfastened and had pulled free of two of the belt loops. A thin trail of blood snaked down Sabo’s left leg, a tiny pool of it forming under the arch of Sabo’s left foot. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Ace turned his eyes to Sabo’s face and had to fight not to scream.

Ace could see where Sabo’s face had been peeled from his head, could trace the line that went under his chin, up below his scalp and back down again. Blood trailed down his neck from the injury, staining the neck of Sabo’s shirt red.

Sabo’s face was back, though.

It had been stitched to his head unevenly, unprofessionally, and it didn’t cover the entire space where Sabo’s face used to go. The face was crooked somewhat, tilted somewhat to the left. Bits of muscle that occasionally twitched or spasmed were visible in some places around the edges where the skin hadn’t gone to the right place. The thread that held it to the head was thick, about half as thick as Ace’s pinky. It was dark grey-brown, most of it stained with Sabo’s blood.

Sabo’s expression was truly horrifying.

His face had been cut, almost carved, in the area around his lips. Now his mouth stretched far wider than it should have, the edges of an unnatural smile coming almost as high as his eyes. The horrible grin was asymmetrical, the right side a little higher than the left. Each end of the smile was held in place with more stitch work, a cross-stitch on each side holding Sabo’s lips in place. Sabo’s eyes, too, were wider than they should have been. The lids had been pulled back, forcing his eyes wider than they should have gone. They were stitched open in this unnatural position via two stitches on each upper and lower lid using thinner thread.

Sabo’s eyes, however, were gone.

Two black holes stretched deeper than eye sockets, seemingly endless. Nothing but darkness could be seen even though logic said Ace should have just seen muscle and bone.

Ace’s hand was covering his mouth, pure horror apparent in his expression.

“Oh my God…What have they _done_ to you?” Ace’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. Sabo’s head, previously facing off to Ace’s right, turned so it was turned directly at him.

“I…I’m all better now.” Sabo’s voice was hollow and quiet, sounding more like a child that Ace could ever remember. Sabo’s head fell to the side as if all the muscles in his neck suddenly stopped functioning. His head was perfectly horizontal, passing the natural breaking point of the human neck. “All better…Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Sabo’s voice was still quiet and broken. “Hatter fixed me. I’m all better now. All better…” Sabo trailed off. Ace, terrified as he was, felt something surpass his fear.

Grief.

Ace moved himself closer to the bars, drawing up right next to them, right in front of Sabo. Sabo continued to stare straight ahead, stare at the place Ace had been before. “Sabo…” Ace could feel tears in his eyes. How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he have allowed Sabo to take his place that day? Sabo’s head had turned and he was now ‘looking’ down at Ace again. Ace looked up into his face, directly addressing the horror his actions, his failures had brought about. “I’m sorry, Sabo…I’m so, so sorry…” He felt tears, warm and wet, sliding down his face.

“Why, Ace…?”

“Why what?”

“Why’re you wearing that stupid human suit?” Ace looked at Sabo, confused.

“What?”

“It’s time to shed your fake skin.” Ace felt his fear beginning to overshadow his grief again. Sabo’s voice was hollow, devoid of any of the humanity Ace had considered his brother.

The voice was dead.

Ace began backing away from the bars, distancing himself a little from Sabo. His heartbeat was elevated and his trepidation was growing by the moment.

“I…I don’t think I want to do that, Sabo.” Sabo cocked his head a little to the side.

“But why not? If you don’t shed your fake skin, you’ll never be able to see.” Sabo’s face twitched as if he were trying to smile. “I can see _everything_ now. And it’s so very happy here. Happy. Always happy. Happy as clowns. Don’t…doesn’t Ace want to be happy too?”

“Yes…”

“Then come with me!”

“Sabo, I can’t do that.” Sabo’s head cocked a little to the side.

“But why not, Ace?”

“Because Luffy needs me. Alive. And if I go with you, I may not be able to get back.” Sabo was silent for a moment. Ace watched him carefully, but he made no move.

Eventually, Sabo turned away from Ace and grabbed the candleholder that was sitting on a barrel directly behind him. The candle was the only light source Ace could see, seated in a simple old-fashioned candleholder. Sabo slowly turned back toward Ace, holding it in one hand.

“If you don’t want to see everything you’re permitted to see nothing.” Sabo’s voice was the same as it had been before, hollow, passive, and inexpressive. Sabo turned to his left and began walking slowly down the hallway. Ace blinked in surprise.

“Sabo, wait!” The darkness was already beginning to close in around Ace, the one light source leaving with Sabo. Sabo didn’t slow, merely continued his lethargic pace away. The darkness edged closer.

Ace scooted away from that encroaching black, moving towards the bars, towards the retreating back of his brother. “Sabo, please! Don’t leave me here! Don’t…don’t take the light!” Ace’s back was now pressed against the bars. Sabo was quite a distance down the hall and only continued moving further away, the darkness pushed closer still, brushing against Ace’s toes. Complete panic was now washing over Ace’s mind. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to be alone in this blackness, trapped, helpless, defenseless. “Sabo!”

“The train is coming with its shiny cars,

Its comfy seats and wheels of stars,

So hush my little ones, have no fear.

The man in the moon is the engineer.” Sabo’s voice echoed down the hallway, unattached and unconcerned.

“Sabo, please! Don’t leave me here! Not in the dark! I’m scared Sabo, help me!” The darkness was pulling at Ace’s knees now, and getting closer with every step Sabo took.

“The train is coming with its shiny cars,

Its comfy seats and wheels of stars,

So hush my little ones, have no fear.

The man in the moon is the engineer.”

The light disappeared.

Ace shot awake instantly, rolling out of bed and crashing to the floor. His breathing was ridiculously fast, his heart hammering against his ribs with such force he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. He turned his head about wildly, trying to get his bearings. It was dark, dark, dark and Ace couldn’t take it, couldn’t remain in this blackness, trapped forever. Ace’s adrenaline levels were through the roof and he was in a complete fight-or-flight response. There was nothing to fight though, Ace didn't know how to kill darkness. That left him running. Because Ace sure as hell wasn’t staying here.

Ace’s feet found there way under him before he even knew what was going on. As he placed his bodyweight on the limbs they _screamed_ their protest in blinding shades of pain. Ace didn’t care. They were strong enough to hold him, strong enough to get him out of this place. He took a step towards the door, lurching as his leg tried to give out from underneath him. He managed to catch himself before he fell fully to the floor, grabbing onto the door handle for support.

He threw the door wide and fell-walked into the hallway, slamming into the opposite wall then using it to help support him. He looked about wildly, searching for the way out of this place. There had to be a way out. There had to be. Ace saw a door at the end of the hall with a very faint silvery light coming from under it.

Ace staggered down the hallway as fast as he could. His legs felt like they were being rebroken with every step he took, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. The fear was still racing through his mind and he had to get out, had to escape, had to run away from this darkness before it swallowed him entirely.

Finally he made it to the door, twisting the knob and throwing it wide as soon as the handle touched his hand. The door swung outward faster than Ace had ever seen a door move and slammed into the wall behind it. Ace didn’t care about the noise, though. All he cared about was that it _wasn’t dark anymore._ Ace collapsed against the doorframe, leaning against it heavily before slowly sinking to the floor at its base.

Wind caressed his face. The feeling was foreign, yet familiar. Like something he had dreamed once and then forgotten upon waking. It was cool and lightly damp with spray. The air smelled like the ocean and nighttime, and Ace didn’t think he’d ever smelled anything so wonderfully _real._ Tiny lights shone down at him, each ablaze with their own individual luminosity. They were like tiny shards of glass set in velvet then illuminated from behind. They twinkled and danced before Ace, complex and unfathomable. What were they called again? Ace’s mind took a moment to retrieve the word from distant memory. It seemed so far away. A word unused for an unnaturally long amount of time.

Stars.

Ace could have wept.

That one word…why hadn’t he remembered it instantly? Ace began looking around, looking at all the things his life had been missing and naming each in turn. Wave. Sea. Wind. Spray. Moon. Sky. Night. Color. Horizon.

It was the first time in a month and a half that Ace had been outside.

Ace pulled himself out of the doorway and leaned back against the wall, closing the door quietly. He stared up at the night, at the stars, at the moon.

When had he last seen the sky?

The waves beat softly against the sides of the ship, their hypnotic rhythm relaxing Ace as he stared at the stars.

When had he last heard the waves?

The wind tugged gently at Ace’s hair, stroking his face with spray-wet fingers. Ace took a breath through his mouth and literally tasted the salt on his tongue. That sensation alone, the taste of the sea air, was absolutely astounding to Ace. For the last month he’d breathed the same stale, dead air. This was fresh, seemed new, clean, and alive in a way Ace had forgotten air could seem.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Ace was too awestruck to form a more interesting sentence. The voice hadn’t really surprised him. He had felt the figure approach, had expected his visit before even that. Ace stared at the stars for another moment before looking to his left.

The White Rabbit stood to Ace’s left.

His hands were in his pants pockets, face upturned as he stared at the sky. His face had changed somewhat since Ace had last seen him. He looked more human and less like a monster than he had when Ace had attacked him before leaving Wonderland. His right arm was back too.

He was wearing a dark dress jacket with a black waistcoat underneath. He wore long, dark slacks and black, shiny shoes. His white dress shirt was as impeccable and pristine as ever, nary a spot to be found. Ace could see the bulge of his pocket watch in his waistcoat pocket, as well as the gold chain that trailed across his chest, through one buttonhole on his waistcoat, and hooked on the opposite pocket.

Rabbit’s face was pretty much as it had been when Ace had first met him in Hare’s cell. The only differences were his eyes, which were slightly wider than before, a little more of the white showing around the hazel-grey iris. Rabbit’s ears had changed too, bending in several weird ways as they arched off his head. He was wearing a top hat now too.

He was smiling.

“Why’re you here, Rabbit?” The Rabbit turned his eyes away from the sky to look at Ace. The smile remained on his face, a simple upturn of the lips.

“You’re the one who called me.”

“What?” Ace was genuinely confused.

“You called me here. When you woke up. Whenever you get really scared like that, it’s my job to show up.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s always a way out and it’s important you remember that.” Rabbit turned his eyes back to the stars. “Seems I made the trip in vain this time, though. You don’t want to come with me right now.” Ace bristled slightly.

“You say that like I’m ever going to go back with you. Surviving Wonderland was hard enough the first time, I’m not about to subject myself to another Caucus Race thank you very much.” The Rabbit chuckled lightly, shutting his eyes.

“Oh you will. You will. Believe me, compared to the cruelties of reality, Wonderland is a gentle place. At least we have _rules._ ” Ace snorted.

“Yeah. Sure. Because you tearing that woman’s arm off was _totally_ adhering to ‘rules.’”

“Did I say the rules involved morality?” Ace looked at Rabbit again, brows furrowed. Rabbit was still smiling, eyes closed. “Morality isn’t real, Ace. You aught to leave your delusions behind.”

“Oh I should, should I? What’s to stop me from abandoning _you?_ You’re a delusion as well.”

“Am I? How can you be sure?”

“…What does that mean?” The Rabbit’s smile widened slightly, turning into a smirk.

“How can you concretely prove that I’m a delusion?” Ace raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

“You regrew an arm in two weeks. Real things can’t do that.”

“It all comes down to _perspective,_ Ace. While you’re in this world, your mind plays by this world’s rules. But as I recall, Wonderland seemed real to you while you were in it, did it now? How can you prove to yourself which is real and which is delusion? Just because we play by different rules there does that make us a breach of nature?”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, you say. All a matter of choice? Of choosing my reality?” Rabbit nodded. Ace smiled to himself. “Sorry, Rabbit. You made a pointless trip.” Rabbit looked at Ace evenly, then turned his gaze back to the stars. The smile didn’t fall from his face,

“Ah well. I wouldn’t call it pointless. Despite your masks I can see you. I can see you questioning yourself. Questioning this. Wondering if maybe, just maybe it doesn’t matter which is real, only which you like better.” Rabbit looked right at Ace’s face. “There’s a part of you, Ace, that will always be part of us. There’s a part of you that wants to come back. It’ll whisper, it’ll always leave you asking, wondering about us. And it’ll grow stronger. Trust me, Ace. I know you. One day, maybe one day soon, you will be back. You’ll realize just how cruel this world is and that you don’t want to be a part of it and then I’ll be there. That’s a promise. I’ll be there to take you down the rabbit-hole again.”

“Go away, Rabbit. I’m not going with you. Not now, and not ever again.” Rabbit turned and began walking away from Ace, across the deck. He paused just before the staircase and spoke to Ace over his shoulder.

“Hatter got some lovely new teas since you left. He was quite put out by your dislike for herbal teas. Next time you visit, could you at least _pretend_ to like it, for his sake?” Ace turned and glared at the Rabbit’s back.

“Fuck off, Rabbit. I’m not going with you. I’m _never_ going with you.” Rabbit gave a brief chuckle, then retreated. Ace turned his gaze back to the stars, trying to regain that former sense of complete wonder and peace he’d had before. Several minutes of silence passed.

Yassop backed slowly away from the door to the deck, closing the tiny amount that he’d had it open. He backed down the hallway and leaned against a wall. This…this was big. Yassop turned around and walked down the hall, eyes wide. He stopped outside Ricky’s room. Was it the middle of the night? Yes. Still, Yassop could tell this was important and thought Ricky would like to know as soon as possible. He knocked on the doctor’s door. There was no response, so he knocked louder. Several moments later, a tired-looking Ricky squinted up at him.

“Whas the matter, Yassop?” Ricky’s voice was thick with sleep, but he was becoming more aware as time passed. Yassop took a deep breath.

“I think there’s something seriously wrong with Ace.” Ricky looked much more awake at that, though he continued to squint at Yassop due to the absence of his glasses.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Yassop bit his lip.

“I think…” He took a deep breath.

“I think Ace is having audio-visual hallucinations.”


	31. Chapter 31

Ace watched the horizon fade to a dull grey, the foamy tips of the waves silvered in the predawn light. It was early in the morning, no later than 4:30, yet Ace was paying such attention to the approaching day that every passing moment his senses added new details to the birth of the morning. He noted each tiny change in the shade of the sky, felt the wind shift directions slightly, saw each degree the moon sunk as it faded from bright luminosity to a pale, almost translucent looking shadow of its nighttime splendor. Ace observed each detail, each tiny change with fascination.

He knew he should go back to the infirmary before everyone woke up and noticed his absence, but as much as he reasoned that he should turn away, should go back inside, he couldn’t make himself do it. The minute changes in the sky, the sensation of sea wind on his skin, all of it was fascinating to him in a way nothing had fascinated him in a long, long time.

It was nothing compared to the sunrise itself.

The colors were bright and vibrant, the hues of blue, pink, peach, orange, and red burning across the sky like spilled watercolors. Ace’s eyes hurt from the brightness of the sun in comparison with the artificial light he’d been subsisting on for the last month and a half, but he didn’t turn away or make any attempt to hide his eyes. The colors, the grandeur, the slow grace of the rising sun instilled unfathomable, unending awe deep in Ace’s chest. His heart swelled and he felt free, truly free for the first time in far, far too long.

The sun rose higher and the wind kicked up the waves, tossing sea spray playfully at the gold-orange disk that was making its way above the horizon. As it rose it chased back the black shades of night, and soon even Venus’ starry light faded from the sky. The sky nearest the sun began to change from its oranges and pinks and reds as the sun rose still higher, fading to eggshell blue. This blue began to carry itself across the sky as if the heavens were fabric being dipped in an artisan’s dye.

The last vestiges of night faded from the west.

Ace released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and leaned back against the wall behind him. His eyes were wide and filled with complete awe, a hand raised over his mouth. He realized his hands were shaking lightly, and he genuinely laughed at himself for a moment. He pressed them together, trying to make them stop, but after a moment leaned his head back, letting them fall limply into his lap. His eyes drifted softly shut and he savored the smell of the sea and the horizon that was carried to him on the wind. He imagined he’d be hearing the noises of a panicked search once the crew noticed his absence, and he knew he would mourn the loss of the quietude of dawn.

“Ace.” Ricky’s voice was serious and Ace opened his eyes, looking at the doctor who had just stepped through the door. Ace could see Yassop behind him. Ricky’s face was serious and concerned. “We need to talk.” The peaceful smile the sunrise had brought to Ace’s face faded as he looked in Ricky’s eyes. He felt his ingrained mistrust raise its head and ask suspiciously what had changed, what they wanted. Ace glanced between Ricky and Yassop.

“…What’s this about?” Ricky took a deep breath, face remaining serious and determined.

“Wonderland.” Ace’s blood ran ice cold and he froze. Ace’s breathing stuck in his throat and he knew his face showed blatant shock. There was no recovering from this one, no passing it off as nothing. He hadn’t had time to make a mask, hadn’t thought he’d need one for _Wonderland_ of all things. _They weren’t ever supposed to_ find out _about Wonderland. How did they-_ He started.

 _“You say that like I’m_ ever _going back with you. Surviving Wonderland was hard enough the first time, I’m not about to subject myself to another Caucus Race thank you very much.”_ Ace’s eyes hardened. _They heard me. The heard me talking to Rabbit._ Ace stared at Ricky, eyes dark.

“Ace, tell me about Wonderland.” Ace’s look bordered on a glare. A moment of silence passed and Ricky began to get a bit unnerved. There was a steel in Ace’s eyes that hadn’t been there two months ago. Ace’s eyes were dark and his gaze was frosty. Slowly, Ricky watching him the whole while, he stood. Ricky’s eyes widened at seeing him putting his bodyweight on the broken limbs. Ace moved to stand directly in front of Ricky, looking up into his face.

“No.” His voice was as cold as his look had been, no expression to it. Distant. Cold. Removed. Hard and frigid as a glacier.

Ace walked passed him and Yassop and down the hallway.

“Ace we need to talk about this!” Ricky turned and followed him, determined to get an answer out of the boy. After Yassop had gone into more detail about what he overheard Ace saying last night, Ricky had begun to agree with Yassop’s initial deduction that Ace was having audio-visual hallucinations. If it were true, it was big. Ace’s response to Ricky’s question about “Wonderland”, one of the collection of strange terms Yassop had overheard last night, indicated that Yassop was right. Ricky needed more details, though. Needed to know the details of these things that Ace was seeing, needed to know how long the hallucinations had been going on, when they had started, how they had started, and what was causing them.

Yassop’s overhearing Ace last night had been a really lucky break for Ricky. Ricky, of course, had suspected that Ace had deep mental trauma from his experiences, after all, who wouldn’t, but now he actually had _proof._ Now he might be able to define a specific condition and that would bring them one step closer to getting Ace back the way he was before.

Ace didn’t know the East Wind all that well, and Ricky used that to his advantage.  Knowing Ace was trying to get away from him, Ricky began subtly steering him towards a dead end. Of course, Ace didn’t realize he was being herded and followed unknowingly along. He couldn’t move as fast as he’d like, could only walk quickly as opposed to running which he would have infinitely preferred (well, theoretically he could run, but the tremendous ache in his legs kept him from actually trying it), and this kept him much physically closer to Ricky than he would have liked.

Finally they reached the dead end, the end of a hallway at the very stern of the ship, and Ace knew he was caught. He clenched his hands into fists at his side and closed his eyes. He resisted the urge to punch the wall out of frustration. After a moment he drew himself up and turned around to face Ricky.

“Alright, Ace. Enough games. This is really, _really_ important, probably the most important thing yet. Yassop told me he overheard you on the deck late last night. He said you were talking to yourself, but it sounded more like one side of a conversation than just thinking out loud.” The lie began to flow from Ace’s mouth like water.

“Oh that? I was just talking to myself. It’s a habit I have. One side of the conversation is my interior thought, one side is the part I speak out loud. It helps me understand more than one facet of a concept sometimes.”

“Ace, I _can’t believe that_ anymore. Yassop said you specifically addressed and seemed to look at something, something that simply wasn’t there. If you were talking to yourself, why would you call yourself “Rabbit”?” Ricky reached into the large inside pocket of his doctor’s coat and drew out Ace’s sketchbook holding it up so Ace could plainly see what it was he had. “And then there’s this.” Ricky opened it and began flipping through the pages, one at a time. “You draw scenes from everyday life, sure, and that seemed normal enough. But then I noticed something.” Ricky turned the notebook to face Ace pointing at a specific place on the page. “This.”

The drawing Ricky was referencing was a drawing of most of the crew. He drew it on was first day he had gone to lunch with the pirates, carried to the mess hall by Shanks, and the image was of a jovial, seemingly ordinary meal aboard the East Wind. Ricky wasn’t pointing to the majority of the image, though.

He was pointing at a specific figure.

The people in the image diminished in size as they grew further from Ace. It was back when Ace was working almost exclusively on mastering perspective, and he had put a lot of effort into getting the scaling and shrinking of distance correct. The one Ricky was pointing at was at the very far back of the shot, no individual features being visible, shadowed into near-complete profile like the others that filled the background. He, among all others, seemed to be the only one directly facing Ace, the point of capture. There was one bigger key difference between this figure and the others, though.

He had rabbit ears.

“And that’s not the only one, is it?” Ricky flipped through several more pages, the next one he came to rest on being an image of Shanks sleeping, seemingly an accident as he slumped in a chair in the infirmary. His hat hung from his head, skewed at an odd angle. In the shot, the entire infirmary was visible, Ricky’s desk, the cabinets of medical supplies, the few other beds in the room, and the door. In this shot, the door was open wide.

Two identical figures peered around the doorway childishly, one on each side. Only half of each face was visible, the other side hidden behind the doorframe and wall. They both had reddish-brown hair, unkempt and untamed. Their eyes were hazel-grey, widened to show white all the way around the iris in an unnatural stretching of the eyelids.

They were grinning.

The expression wasn’t photorealistic as most of the faces Ace drew, merely a pointed white crescent half obscured by the door. The ends of the surreal smiles went higher than they should have, ending even with the bottom of the nose.

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum weren’t the only two beings of Wonderland that had snuck into the image, though.

Half of Rabbit’s anthropomorphic frame was visible at the very edge of the capture. He was to Ace’s left in the picture whereas the twins were on Ace’s right. He was facing directly towards Ace.

Rabbit was closer than he had been before.

“It keeps getting worse.” Ricky’s face was serious as he continued flipping through the pages, coming to rest on another drawing of Shanks, this time seemingly laughing at Benn’s expense.

Hatter had found his way into this frame.

He sat at a table in the near background, sipping from one of his elegant china cups. Dormouse was there as well, climbing up Benn’s back via his hair.

Rabbit stood not 6 feet behind the table Shanks and Benn were at.

Ricky closed the book, placing it back in his pocket. He looked at Ace seriously and from the tone of his voice Ace could tell he was being completely honest.

“I’m _scared_ to see the rest, Ace. Scared to see what that rabbit wants. Scared to see why it’s _always_ in pictures with Shanks. Most of all I’m scared to see its face when it gets close enough for you to draw it.” Ricky knew he had to be delicate about this. In all likelihood, Ace perceived these hallucinations to be real. For the time being, it would be better for Ricky to treat them that way too, if he wanted Ace not to shut him off. “Who is that, Ace? What is it that it wants? Why is it getting closer? Where does it come from?” Ace had taken to staring at the floor. There was no use hiding anything anymore. And…maybe Ricky could help him. Maybe Ricky could help convince him Wonderland wasn’t real and keep Ace from seeing its inhabitants anymore. Ace took a deep breath and swallowed.

“That’s the White Rabbit. He’s…he’s my guide, when I visit. I…I don’t know what it is about Shanks or if Shanks is even a factor in when he shows up.” Ace looked up, trying to convince Ricky with his eyes that he was actually being honest for once. “I don’t remember drawing him, Ricky.” Truth be told, Ace was scared. He had no memory of drawing Rabbit, the twins, Hatter, Dormouse, any of them. That frightened him. These bouts of blankness were growing more frequent, too. It was like his mind would just turn off for a while, and when he came back, things were different. Ace was sure his fear showed in his eyes and was apparent in his voice when he spoke next.

“Make it stop, Doctor.” To say Ricky was surprised by the fragility of Ace’s expression and voice would have been an understatement. The words were barely more than a whisper, and Ace looked almost scared enough to cry. Ricky walked closer to Ace slowly, stopping in front of him and crouching down so they were on more even ground.

“I’m going to try, Ace. We’re going to make you better. But I need you to promise me you won’t hide things like this from me again, alright? I can’t help you if you don’t let me know you need help.” Ace nodded. His fear only grew by the moment. He felt the beginnings of panic settling into his stomach. Ricky tried to smile comfortingly at him.

“Can you tell me about these people you’ve drawn, Ace?” Ace nodded again and took the sketchbook from Ricky’s hand, flipping through the pages to a specific drawing.

It was Hatter, seated at tea, cheek resting on one hand at an angle, staring off in near profile away from the point of capture at something viewers couldn’t see. Ace raised a lightly shaking hand and ran it over the picture. A scared, shaky smile came to his face. He didn’t know what was making him so terrified, but it was like being trapped in one of his nightmares again, unable to move, unable to run away and knowing something horrible was getting closer by the moment.

He thought – _hoped_ – Ricky could save him.

“This is Hatter. The Mad Hatter, if you prefer. He’s…He’s probably the smartest one in Wonderland.” Ricky moved closer, glancing at the image and trying to smile reassuringly at Ace. He wondered for a moment how to phrase his question in a way Ace would answer his _real_ question, then spoke.

“Where…Where does Hatter live, Ace?” Ace stared at Ricky for a second before a tiny, shaky smile flickered on his face for a moment and he laughed breathily, terror dancing in his eyes.

“He lives in my brain, of course. Hatter’s logic. Where else could he exist?” Ace snapped his attention back to the sketchbook and flipped wildly through the pages, coming to rest on another.

It was Caterpillar, chubby, blue, curled on a leaf. It had 6 white, gloved hands and 6 shoed feet. In one hand he held a Persian hookah, grey-white smoke puffing out the end and hazing the background and entire image. His other hands were held in Hindu-like positions, similar to those in the statues of gods or taken up by priests in meditation. His eyes were closed. Ace’s trembling hand ghosted over the image, careful not to smudge the careful shading within the folds of the smoke.

“This is Caterpillar.” Ace turned to Ricky, frightened, shaky smile still on his face. “He’s the calmest of all the inhabitants.” Ricky was worried about Ace. He looked absolutely _terrified_. Ricky didn’t understand why, but there was no threat here and Ricky needed to know more about this condition. This may be the only time he could get Ace to open up like this, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

“And where does Caterpillar live, Ace?” Ricky kept his voice gentle, calm. Soothing. Trying to calm Ace down even as he delved deeper into just _why_ Ace was so scared.

“Caterpillar lives in my hands.” Ace’s voice had begun to shake, and his shoulders were trembling lightly now too. “He-He’s creativity.” Ace gave another of those terrified, breathy laughs. “Of course he lives there. He makes things. Creates them.” Ace felt tiny, felt defenseless, felt completely vulnerable and could _feel_ the horrible horrendous _him_ that was after him and knew _he_ was close and knew it wouldn’t be long before _he_ got here. Ricky had to know by then, had to see, or else something _bad_ was going to happen.

Ace didn’t like bad.

“Ace?” Ace’s head snapped to the left and he looked at Ricky, breath freezing in his throat for a moment. He licked dry lips.

“There’s no time. No time at all. Can you save me? Can you _see_ yet?” _Stop talking, Ace._ Ace froze completely where he was, stomach tying itself in knots, air freezing in his lungs, heart stopping as cold shot up his spine. His trembling increased tenfold. He turned to Ricky, eyes wide, terrified.

“ _Save me,_ Ricky!” _I said stop._ The voice changed and Ace became lost.

He sounded like Ricky now.

 Ace’s breathing was coming in great, terrified gulps now, panic crawling up his throat. He turned his gaze to the doctor, eyes wide. “Wh-Who are you?” Ricky was a bit shocked at that one and answered the question slowly, speaking clearly so Ace would understand him through his panic.

“It’s me, Ricky. I’m your friend, your doctor.” _And I’m_ **angry** _now, Ace._ The sentence was continued seamlessly in Ace’s mind and Ace couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His panic was clawing at his spinal cord, his breathing almost to the point of hyperventilation, heart pounding at something _beyond_ terror.

“How do I know that? Can I trust you? Can you _see?_ ”

“Of course you can trust me, Ace. Let me help you. What are you afraid of? I can and will help you, but you need to tell me what’s wrong.” _Trust me like you trusted Shanks before. He didn’t save you then and I won’t either._ Ricky’s voice was serious and direct, intense. Ace was on the edge of complete mental breakdown, and Ricky wanted nothing more than to help him. Ace knew he was so close to being out of time. _He_ was here, _he_ was angry, and Ace needed somewhere to hide. Ace had to take a chance. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shoving his terror back down his throat for long enough for his mind to work. After a moment he looked up at Ricky.

“There’s someone else you need to meet.” _Stop. Talking._ **Now** _._ Ricky nodded down at Ace.

“Okay.” Anything to make the fear in Ace lessen. Ace flipped wildly through the pages of the notebook. He…He didn’t know whether this Ricky was really Ricky and not _him_ , but Ace had to trust him because without Ricky’s help He’d have to face _him_ alone. He was still scared of Ricky, scared of the similarities between him and Hare, but thus far Ricky had been nothing but helpful, done nothing but support and heal Ace. Ace forced himself to trust.

And then he reached the blank pages at the end of the notebook.

His eyes widened. “No.” _His_ laugh echoed in Ace’s mind, in Ricky’s voice. “No!”

“What’s the matter, Ace?” _Out of time?_ Ace looked up at Ricky with wide, horrified eyes.

“He’s in the other notebook.”

“Who is, Ace? Is he the one that’s scaring you?” _Answer that and question and I’ll have you_ **begging** _for death._

“It’s-“ A warning snarl of rage sounded in Ace’s mind. _Stop. Talking. Now._ “He’s-“ _Stop. Now._

“It’s okay, Ace. Let’s just go and get the other notebook.” Ricky stood and reached slowly towards Ace. Ace backed away a step, pressing against the wall.

“No I _have_ to tell you! Now, before _he_ gets here!” _Don’t. Say. Another. Word._ “He’s…He’s…” Ricky spoke smoothly, placatingly.

“Calm down Ace. Why don’t we go back to the infirmary? I’m sure we can find your other notebook there and I can give you something to help you calm down.” _You can’t trust him. He’s me. Say anything to him and you’re saying it to me. I do not harbor traitors, Ace. You_ **will not** _betray me. That’s…that’s not true. This is Ricky. You’re _**not** _Ricky._ _He_ smiled. _How do you know? Can you prove it?_ Ace was risking it. This was all or nothing. _He_ sounded like Ricky and _he_ could look however _he_ wanted. How could Ace be sure this wasn’t just _him_ in disguise, testing his resolution to silence?

“H-His na-name is-“ _Stop talking now._ “Mister-“ _I._ Ace stared up into Ricky’s face, eyes wide, terrified, _petrified_ with fear. _ Said._

The words came out in a rush. “His name’s Mr. Savage!” _NOW!_ The word was a roar, and it seemed to deafen Ace’s ears as well as his mind. There was a sound like whooshing air past a fast moving object, then something struck Ace’s face hard on his right cheek. Ace was actually bowled over by the force of the blow and the sound of a slap practically echoed down the hallway.

Ricky stared down at Ace, uncomprehending. Ace cried out when he hit the floor, landing on his stomach. He instantly rolled over, looking up at Ricky with wide, horrified eyes, hand pressed against his already reddening cheek. Ace’s breath was stuck in his chest and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“Y-You…” Ace’s eyes were focused on Ricky’s left arm. Ricky followed Ace’s gaze to his left hand, still extended to lead Ace back to the infirmary as he had offered moments ago. His eyes widened, realizing what Ace was assuming.

“No, Ace! I’d _never_ -“ Ricky reached out towards Ace, going to comfort him. Ace scrambled back wildly.

“They were right about you! They were right! I never should have trusted you! You’re just like him! _Just like him!”_

“Ace-!” Ace stumbled to his feet, turning and running down the hallway, ignoring the shooting agony from his legs.

“Don’t touch me!” Ace was running fast, faster than would have been possible without the adrenaline shooting through his veins. Ricky watched him go, too surprised, too stunned to pursue. After Ace’s running footsteps had faded, Ricky continued to stare, shocked, at the other end of the hallway where Ace had turned left. After another moment of Ricky’s stunned silence he slowly retracted his outstretched left hand, which had been reaching for Ace. He turned it so the palm was facing towards him. _I…I didn’t hit him. I didn’t._ Ricky’s eyes were wide, full of blatant shock. _Even if it were a moment of complete lunacy and somehow I did hit him, my hand would be stinging right now and it’s not. I didn’t…I didn’t hit Ace…_

_…So who did?_

* * *

 

“Ace! Ace, where are you?!” Shanks ran down the hallway, hands cupped around his mouth, shouting for the missing boy. Ricky had told him some of what happened, saying Ace had had a panic attack born of his “acute cleisiophobia”. Ricky had translated this to normal-people-language as an extreme fear of being locked in enclosed spaces. Ricky hadn’t gone into any more detail than that, and Shanks hadn’t given him the time to, immediately employing the entire crew in the search.

Shanks jumped down practically an entire staircase in one go, practically crash-landing at the bottom. He immediately began running down this hallway, sticking his head through doors and calling Ace’s name.

He was panting hard by the time he reached the end of this hallway. There was only one door left. The storage room.

The storage room was a large place, bare walls, open floors used for the stacking and holding of crates and barrels of supplies, treasure…whatever happened to be aboard. Right now, there were only foodstuffs, the East Wind travelling light to catch up with the Marine ship Ace had been on as quickly as possible.

Shanks opened the door and stepped inside.

“YOU FUCKING ASSFACE GET YOUR GODDAMNED ASS OVER HERE NOW!” It didn’t matter that Marco knew Shanks couldn’t hear him, yelling, doing something, anything, made him feel better. Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard were all pounding against the glass, had been for the last 7 minutes.

It was dark in there, the only illumination being a lantern placed on a crate next to the door Shanks lit upon entering the room and the open door behind him. The lantern was running pretty low on oil, so the fire wasn’t bright. Shanks couldn’t see very far, and he knew he’d have to be methodical if he wanted to make a thorough search of the room. He started at the fore side of the room, working left and right in rows. He checked between and behind boxes, barrels, and nets, stooping low sometime to look under the occasional shelf.

“NO TIME FOR YOUR FUCKING IGNORANCE RIGHT NOW, RED HAIR!” It still didn’t matter that Marco knew Shanks couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t stand just waiting there _praying_ that Shanks would _hurry the FUCK up._

Shanks had been working for about 12 minutes when he finally reached the end of the room, the light from his lantern illuminating the back wall of the storage space. What he saw froze his heart in his chest, his breath catching in his lungs.

**TICK  
**

**TICK**

**TICK**

The word was written three separate times on the wall, the letters large and capitalized, each about as long as Shanks’ arm. They were written messily, the letters crooked and unevenly spaced, the words not in any kind of pattern. One was written high on the wall, skewed slightly to the right and about halfway between the middle of the wall and the right edge.

The next time it was written was near the center of the wall, a little bit to the left. This one was fairly straight, but the letters weren’t, not as evenly formed as they were the first time.

The third time was near the bottom of the wall, far to the right, almost touching the starboard hull of the ship. The letters on this one were even more shaky and ill formed than the last time, and the word was skewed a little bit left. The light of the lantern glinted off the still-wet writing, revealing the sticky, half-congealed crimson for what it was.

Blood.

The tail end of the last “K” trailed down to the floor, the writing here wetter than the rest, blood sliding down from the letters in tiny streams.

Sliding down to Ace.

He lay on his back in a small pool of blood, the bottom of the “K” trailing down to where the pointer, middle, and ring finger of his left hand were still doused in the crimson life sluggishly pumping from his body. He clutched a surgical scalpel in his right hand, blade pointed out the base of his fist.

Three long, vertical slashes ran down the length of his left forearm.

Shanks stared at the scene for a moment, uncomprehending. When his brain kicked back into gear he sprinted across the floor, coming up beside his unmoving friend. _OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod…_ He tore the sleeve off his shirt and ripped it in half with his teeth, creating makeshift bandages.  He lifted Ace’s limp arm and began wrapping it tightly, scared of how much blood was around and how much was already staining the sleeve of his shirt.

“RICKY!!” Shanks had never yelled so loud in his life. He was pretty sure the whole _Grand Line_ heard him, but it didn’t matter so long as Ricky was here in _nanoseconds._ Shanks was scared. Terrified. Hadn’t been even _close_ to this afraid since they’d found Ace on the floor of that cage. This was worse. _Infinitely_ worse.

Ace’s eyes were wide and glazed over, his chest horribly, _horribly_ still.


	32. Chapter 32

Shanks was about to yell again for their doctor, clutching at what he _prayed_ wasn’t Ace’s corpse. Just as he opened his mouth to call out, he heard fast approaching footsteps, not quite at a sprint but close. He had just begun to turn his head to look at Ricky, who he was sure had just entered, when he felt the other person crouch, right beside him.

“Let me see.” The voice was an absolute command, no question or hesitation in the words whatsoever. Shanks, in a state of emotional trauma as he was, was practically buffeted by the words, in too much shock to question or disobey. Shanks was swept aside, Ace’s limp form pulled from his loosened grip.

He could only watch as Ace’s body was laid flat on the floor on his back.

Cold blue eyes swept over the boy, taking in the makeshift bandaging on the left arm. An eyebrow raised upon noticing the red handprint on the right side of Ace’s face, his mind instantly calculating the force of the blow necessary to leave a mark like that, and a glance at the pirate captain and his expression told him he hadn’t noticed it yet, but there was no time for asking about that. The eyes darted around the room, taking in the amount of blood on the wall and pooled on the floor. They didn’t have much time before Ace would be beyond helping.

He reached down and began unwinding the bandaging from around Ace’s arm. It was then that Shanks seemed to rouse a little bit and he practically jump-tackled him to the ground, shoving him away from Ace with more than a little force.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Shanks’ eyes widened as he looked at the man for the first time. “Who are you?” There was a low, dangerous quality to his voice. He was in full-blown save-my-friend-from-everything mode and it wouldn’t take much to set him off.

The cold blue eyes gathered all of that from the posture and voice of the captain, and his mind both stored away that information for later and began forming a plan of action based on others who he’d encountered in similar emotional states. He also drew out the lie he’d created, reminding himself of the name and identity he’d assumed. Briefly he considered the man it was based on, comparing and contrasting the false identity with the man who’d really existed, but discarded this as useless. Accuracy didn’t matter when the person you’re impersonating isn’t alive anymore and nobody here had ever met him. Well…nobody currently conscious had met him.

He was Gabriel Gowdel, a marine drafted from his home in East Blue. He didn’t want to be a marine. He was cowardly, a ship’s doctor who never involved himself in combat. He’d been a marine for 2 months. His mind studied this, instantly forcing his shoulders to assume the tension of a nervous or frightened man. He retracted his neck a bit, bringing his head closer to his shoulders, adding to the nervousness he portrayed through body language. He widened his eyes a bit more than was natural, displaying more of the whites around the chilling blue irises.

This all took place in less than a second.

“P-Please! I can help him! I’m a doctor, I know what I’m doing!” Stuttering was always a good way to convey fear, but you couldn’t overdo it. He needed to be at least a little assertive in this situation in order to convey enough confidence to be believable in his knowledge of how to help. He watched calmly from behind his eyes, gauging the pirate’s reaction. Shanks was still bent protectively over Ace, looking at the marine with hard eyes.  He had to take this a step further. If this blasted captain didn’t let him act now, Ace was going to die and everything would be positively ruined. A demonstration was in order.

“Look, I have a special medicine that will stop the bleeding.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tube full of a white powder. “Even your doctor won’t be able to make it stop in time. This is the only way to save his life!”

“Don’t touch him!” He nearly _snarled_ in frustration at the pirate captain’s stubborn _lunacy_. He understood that the pirate wouldn’t see unless he explicitly _showed_ him, but there wasn’t much time left. He darted out and seized the scalpel from Ace’s limp right hand.

“Watch. I don’t mean him any harm!” He dug the blade harshly into the flesh of his left arm just below the wrist and dragged it brutally downward, creating a gash that mirrored those on Ace’s arm. Shanks was watching him with wide eyes, confused and surprised. He didn’t react as if he felt any pain at all and only uncorked the vial of white powder, pouring a quantity of it onto his arm.

The bleeding, which had been worrying in its severity, stopped almost instantly, scabbing over.

“You see? This is a special powder that makes white blood cells clot. It’s the only thing that will _possibly_ save him.” The pirate was still staring at him with wide eyes. He met the gaze seriously. “Your friend has exactly 7 seconds left before he’s beyond even my help. Your doctor won’t be able to do anything then. You make up your mind _now_ or your friend is gone.” His voice was low and serious. The truth was, if the captain didn’t let him act he’d kill the man and treat Ace anyway. He’d prefer to keep up the façade for a while longer, but if he had to drop it he wouldn’t hesitate.

He’d invested time in Ace, and time was the only thing he placed any value in whatsoever. Everything else was always attainable or reattainable, but time was limited. The only truly limited thing in the universe. Time could never be given, only taken away. He’d invested _weeks_ in Ace and he wanted to see that investment brought to fruition. One stubborn pirate captain was _not_ going to make that much of his time go to waste.

Shanks was looking at the man with wide eyes. Should he let the man act? Was he telling the truth? The seconds ticked by.

“Four seconds remain.” The man was looking back at him, eyes serious and cold. In his right hand he held the medicine that could possibly save Ace’s life. How could Shanks be certain, though? Yet the medicine didn’t seem to have any adverse effects on the doctor…

“Three seconds.” Why didn’t Shanks trust this man? Sure he didn’t know him, but he’d never given them any trouble. He was a doctor. It was true that it was quite possible that Ricky wouldn’t make it in time. And what about this man’s estimate of how long Ace had left? Even if he were wrong, the seconds were ticking by and Ace had lost _far_ too much blood…

“Two seconds.” Shanks hesitated only a moment longer. He had to take a risk, betting Ace’s life. It was possible the doctor could save his life. If Shanks didn’t accept his help, it was quite possible Ace was going to die. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Shanks backed off a bit, letting the other man get closer to Ace.

“Please. Do what you can for him.” The man gave him a serious nod, but was smiling behind his eyes. _Perfect._ His left hand released the syringe he’d been grasping inside his pocket, letting it fall back to the bottom. It was full of a neurotoxin that would have had the pirate captain dead in seconds if he’d chosen not to let Ace be saved.

He had the bandage off in moments, moving with the efficiency of long practice. It took only a moment longer to apply the proper amount of the white powder to the cuts on Ace’s arm. The bleeding stopped in an instant, the cuts scabbing over as the one on his own arm had. He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a roll of clean bandages, wrapping the injuries to protect them from infection or breaking open again.

He painted a reassuring smile on his face and placed his hand on the pirate captain’s shoulder in a practiced gesture of comfort.

“He’s going to be okay. He’ll be unconscious for a while, and if your doctor has any of his blood type stored I’d recommend a transfusion, but with or without it he’ll live.” The pirate smiled back at him weakly. It was clear his nerves were completely shot. Mentally he gave a sigh, feeling disdain. He wondered if the captain were going to cry, then. If he were going to have to pretend to comfort him.

All this pretending was boring him. Pretending to be Gabriel, pretending to be nervous all the time, pretending to be friendly, pretending he gave a damn about anything but getting off this ship, Ace in tow.

He was getting sick of pretending to be human.

Just as he was certain he was going to have to pretend something else, pretend he didn’t want to kill this man in front of him before the pirate made himself any more of a fool in his eyes, he heard someone else come in.

It was the audible gasp that he heard, causing him to turn his head. As expected, the Red Haired pirates’ doctor was approaching, almost at a run. He knew what he had to do and shifted backwards, allowing the pirate to get close to Ace. As the pirate passed, he spoke in a quiet voice to him, faking nervousness.

“Your friend used a surgical scalpel to cut his wrist. He managed to cut into the ulnar artery. If…If I may say so, I…” He faked a hesitation, biting his lip in an act of false anxiety. “I think he was trying to kill himself. I-I stopped the bleeding. He should be fine.” Another fake pause. “If…If I may, I’d recommend a blood transfusion.” Ricky seemed to pay him no mind, passing him by and dropping to his knees beside Ace.

Ricky took in the unstained bandaging on Ace’s arm and realized the other doctor hadn’t lied; the bleeding really had been stopped. Ricky looked around then, assessing the scene. Blood was everywhere, staining Ace’s clothes, making his hair sticky and clumped. It pooled on the floor where Ace had lain before Shanks had moved him and ran down the wall in tiny streams from those three words.

TICK

TICK

TICK

Ricky looked at the words in confusion, then down at Ace’s relaxed, unconscious face, and finally came to rest on Ace’s left arm, mentally visualizing the self-inflicted injuries beneath. _Is this…Is this my fault? Did my forcing him to talk about what he was seeing really drive him to this?_ Memories of their conversation, of how scared Ace had been, replayed themselves in Ricky’s mind. Finally, that last moment played itself out, Ricky mentally seeing Ace running down the hallway, away from him, look of betrayal and hurt and terror dancing in his eyes. _I…I know I didn’t hit him, but he thought I did. Is_ that _what drove him to this?_ He shook himself and halted his thoughts where they were. What was more important now was getting Ace to a more comfortable place and getting a disinfectant on his injuries.

“We should take him back to the infirmary. If we get him started on a blood transfusion now, he should wake up in a few hours. Could you take him up to my office, please? I’ll be there in just a moment.” Shanks nodded, looking relieved to have something useful to be doing. He stood and scooped Ace up gently.

Ace’s form was loose and limp in his arms, the right side of his face pressed against Shanks’ chest as his head leaned against him. Shanks was beyond relieved. Until Ricky had confirmed it, he hadn’t been 100% sure Ace was okay. Hearing Ricky say it, hearing his nakama say it was alright, that let Shanks truly know he could relax.

Ricky stood and turned to the other doctor. “Thank you for your help.” He glanced around the room, at all the blood. “Without you, I might not have made it in time.” In response, a tiny smile formed beneath the cold blue eyes.

“It was no trouble. The least I could do to repay you all for letting me aboard. And besides, I wasn’t about to just watch him die.” It was half-truth, he reflected. It was true he needed a way to get the pirates to trust him more, and he wasn’t about to watch Ace die.

Well, not _yet_ anyway.

“How did you do it, out of curiosity? His arm was bound but with the artery nicked like that…” He faked a smile and brought the vial out of his pocket.

“This is a special powder I developed. It makes white blood cells clot almost instantly, but only in the presence of oxygen gas. In this way it doesn’t cause clots to form under the skin, so it’s much safer. Wouldn’t want to stop the bleeding only for the person to later die of clogged arteries and heart failure.” He faked a thoughtful pause. “If…If you’d like I can show you how to make it.” Ricky blinked.

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Ricky turned and gestured for him to follow, leading the way back to the infirmary. For a moment, though, he paused, grabbing Ricky’s arm, allowing his curiosity to finally ask what he’d been wondering.

“By the way, who was it that hit him?” Ricky froze.

“I…beg your pardon?” A quiet thrum of surprise resonated in his brain. _It was him? The doctor?_ It was rare he was surprised. He’d never seen any anger or resentment from Ricky towards Ace, so this was unexpected to say the least.

“Don’t play dumb. The right side of his face. He had a handprint on his face like he’d been slapped. It was clear as day. He’ll probably bruise.” Ricky pulled his arm out of the other’s grasp.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know who hit him. But you can be damn sure that when I find out the truth, somebody’s going to pay.” _Whatever you say, Doc._ He was smiling mentally. _But if you didn’t hit him, why do you so clearly feel guilty?_ He didn’t voice the question, didn’t want to break the newfound – and temporary – trust the other had placed in him.

He faked a smile. “I can see he’s got a lot of friends on this ship. I’m sure whoever did it will pay dearly for their transgression.” He took a step forwards, coming beside Ricky. “Shall we?” His voice was conversational, light. The tension melted off of Ricky’s shoulders and he turned, leading the way out of the infirmary, never hesitating an instant in leading him to where Ace’s unconscious, helpless self was currently kept.

He allowed a satisfied smile to come to his face. This was almost too easy.

Ricky was a quick walker, and when they turned down the hall that led to the infirmary they caught up with Shanks, still carrying the unconscious Ace. Ricky smiled at him comfortingly, opening the door and directing Shanks to lay Ace down on one of the infirmary’s beds.

Apparently the rumor had spread that Ace had been found, as several pirates had now conglomerated in the infirmary, asking what happened. All their faces showed a certain concern, and the captain was currently answering their questions, telling his part of the story.

“But what _made him do it_ is what I’m wondering.” Benn stated, leaning against a wall. Shanks paused, considering the question.

“I…I don’t know.” There was a long pause then. Shanks was sitting at Ace’s bedside and had just finished pulling another blanket over him, as per Ricky’s instructions.

Ricky had explained that with so little blood, Ace’s body temperature would probably be below normal and it was very important him keep warm. Shanks, being Shanks, had then proceeded to almost _pile_ blankets on the unconscious boy, and had just finished robbing another bed of its covering and draping it over Ace.

The tension had left Shanks shoulders, or at least almost completely faded. Ace was going to be alright now. Ricky said so. Ricky was their doctor and Ricky could take care of him.

At the same time, though, Shanks had been wondering what Benn had asked. What _had_ caused Ace to do this? To try to _kill himself?_ Shanks could scarcely believe it had even happened. Ace…didn’t seem depressed. I mean, obviously what had happened to him would be bothering him, but he’d never tried anything like this before, had never expressed any kind of suicidal intentions. So why now, when he had just begun to walk again, when everything was getting bett-

Shanks’ eyes caught on the right side of Ace’s face for the first time.

“…Who was the last one to see Ace before he ran away?” Shanks’ voice was quiet. Everyone, upon hearing his tone, fell silent. His head was bowed low, hair shading his eyes. His mouth, usually in a jovial grin, was in a thin, grim line. Shanks looked up, looking around the room at his various crewmates. His eyes were hard as steel, meeting each and every present pirate’s eyes. There was a moment of complete silence, perfect and unbroken.

After a moment, though, Ricky swallowed and took a step forward. He did his best to meet his captain’s gaze evenly.

“That would be me, captain.” Shanks’ eyes remained focused on Ricky.

“Everyone else, get out. Now.” The other pirates shuffled uneasily out of the room, Benn seeming especially hesitant, glancing over his shoulder and looking at Shanks before leaving. Nobody else had seen the mark on the right side of Ace’s face, and everyone was confused as to what was going on. Benn was the last to reach the door, and Shanks’ eyes remained focused on Ricky. “Shut the door on your way out.” His voice was cold, glacial, even. Hard.

Ricky stood before his captain, trying not to melt under his frigid gaze.

The room was dead silent and Ricky waited. Waited for his captain to say something because he knew at that moment that to speak before Shanks wanted him to would be a grave mistake.

When Shanks moved he was practically a blur.

He seized the front of Ricky’s shirt and slammed him hard against the wall, lifting him off the floor a ways. All air was driven from Ricky’s lungs at the force of the impact and he gasped for air.

Shanks’ face could have melted steel.

His eyes were harder than stone, angrier than the pits of hell. His mouth was turned into a snarl of rage and for an instant Ricky was convinced he was actually about to die at the hands of his captain. When Shanks spoke, his voice was harder than his expression.

“You have _three fucking seconds_ to explain this to me.” Ricky swallowed audibly. He took a deep breath, trying not to be paralyzed by the killing intent his captain was giving off.

“It wasn’t me, captain. I swear to you it was not me. Why would I possibly hurt Ace? He’s my friend too. I’d never, _never_ hit him, _especially_ not after everything he’s been through. Only a monster could do something like that.”

“Oh really? And will Ace’s story match yours when he wakes up?” Shanks’ voice and eyes were still just as hard as before.

“Captain, he’s been having multi-sensory hallucinations. He’s not in a state of mind where he’s aware of the difference between reality and non-reality, much less being able to understand and differentiate between the two.”

“Oh? So his story _will_ differ from yours? _Hallucinations don’t leave marks like that, Ricky._ ” Ricky raised his hands placatingly only to notice how badly they were shaking.

“I’m telling you the truth captain.” His voice was seemingly calm. He was doing his best to force back his fear. He knew how bad this must look to Shanks. There were no other witnesses, no other proof besides that condemning mark on Ace’s face. When Ace woke up, he’d probably believe it was Ricky that had attacked him. There was nothing more he could say or do to defend himself. It was in Shanks’ hands now. Ricky left his judgment to his captain.

Everything had just been completely shot to hell in one day. It was hard to believe how much had happened. Ricky had finally gotten through to Ace, finally gotten Ace to talk openly, and then everything had just completely fallen apart. Now here he was, facing the wrath of his captain for something he didn’t do. He wondered what Shanks’ course of action would be. The moment stretched.

“…Tell me the full story. We’ll see if I believe it.” The captain slowly released Ricky. His face was still hard as steel, but he was reserving his wrath until he was sure Ricky really deserved it. Shanks didn’t want to believe that his doctor, his nakama would do something like this, but all the evidence was against Ricky. Shanks truly didn’t know what he’d do if he found out it had been Ricky who’d hit Ace. Should he kill Ricky? The protective, almost parental side of his mind was out for blood, but he didn’t know if he could do it. They’d been friends for a long time now. Banish him? Kick him out of the crew? More possible, but it’d still be hard for Shanks and they were still out in the middle of the ocean with Ace, who still was in very great need of a doctor.

“W-Well. It all started very, very early this morning. About…2 or 3 AM. I was asleep at the time, but based on what Yassop told me later, Ace got up at some point in the night.

“Yassop said Ace somehow got out onto the deck of the ship. Based on what he saw, Yassop said he thought Ace must’ve had another nightmare because he looked completely terrified. After…a while, Ace began to speak, talking to someone who just wasn’t there, addressing him as “Rabbit.” Yassop listened for a while, picking up on some very strange terms that all seemed somehow relevant to this “Rabbit.”

“Ace spoke at length to this “Rabbit” about a place called Wonderland, which Ace called a delusion. He called the Rabbit a delusion too, but talked to him as if he thought he were real. Ace seemed to grow annoyed at this Rabbit and told him to leave, after which he stopped talking.

“Yassop was shocked to say the least, and came and immediately woke me up. He told me everything he saw and heard, and we both came to the conclusion that Ace was having some kind of audio-visual hallucination. I knew this was serious, but I thought it’d be better to confront Ace about it in the morning, after doing a little research.

“After Yassop told me what was going on, I went back to the infirmary. I was looking for a specific book on different kinds of mental maladies when I noticed Ace had left his sketchbook on the nightstand. It was open.

“The page it was open to was an image Ace had drawn earlier that day. Here, look.” Ricky pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the page.

The image was done in watercolor. As a piece of artwork it was beautiful, but it was clear the creature in it had no place in reality. It was tall and thin, pale skin with no blemishes. The arms were long, the hands hanging below the creature’s knees. It was entirely hairless, even its scalp was completely bald. It had thin grey lips and enormous dark eyes.

They were almost like insect eyes, but not faceted. They were oval and vaguely human, but much, much too large to be in human proportions. They were completely pitch black save for white lines, which formed a ring, almost like an iris. The creature was apparently female and wore a loose, flowing piece of fabric about her hips. She wore no shirt, but there was no detail to her breasts beside their general shape. Tied about her neck was what might have been a necklace. It was silver and no definite links could be seen in the thin, fine chain. Every now and then the chain was interrupted by beads that looked like starlit dew.

The necklace looped and dipped, the chain seemingly having no beginning and no end. Some of the loops hung off one shoulder or the other, other loops more closely wrapped about her throat. Others still hung low, one reaching her waist, almost touching the fabric of her skirt which hung high on her left him but dipped far lower on her right.

The skirt was made of silvery-white material, composed of a single piece of fabric. It rested high on her left hip but the waist of a skirt was at an angle, the right side of it resting partway down her pelvis. Her right leg was exposed as the fabric was cut in such a way that it revealed the leg with each step she took. It didn’t show anything more explicit than that, but the skirt was…revealing. About the exposed right ankle, another chain like that of her necklace was wrapped twice, once loosely, the other a little closer about the appendage.

Pale, pale grey smoke curled all about the creature, welcoming and embracing her like one of its own. She almost blended into it, and in some places they were actually blurred, the color of the creature’s skin, which almost perfectly matched the smoke, blending with the white-grey of the haze behind her.

The creature was elegant, yet Shanks felt unease looking into those black eyes. It was a pretty being, but it was fundamentally inhuman. It unnerved him.

Above the creature, written in Ace’s simple, legible script was the creature’s apparent name. Estrella. _Star…?_ Shanks was confused by the image. He understood why Ace would name it, it was a piece of artwork after all, but there was…something about the drawing, something more familiar than just an image created on the spot.

“And that’s not all. Look at this.” Ricky turned the page over in the sketchbook. On the other side was more of Ace’s neat writing, filling nearly half the page. He wrote in depth about the creature’s appearance, briefly described their method of communication, though he seemed at a loss of words for how to do so, and finished with a few words about where they lived.

The bottom half of the page was occupied by an image of a city, drawn as perfectly as Ace remembered it. The crystalline towers, the ephemeral glow the entire place gave off, the curling wisps of airdarksmoke that wound through the streets, and finally the much larger tower that Caterpillar occupied.

“He provided dimensions for the place too. Look here.” Ricky directed Shanks’ attention to a specific place on the drawing of the city. Each tower had its own label with estimated heights and number of stories.

They ranged from 3 to 14 inches tall, save for the last, which soared at 24 inches.

None of this made sense. Why would Ace go into so much detail for a piece of art? Why would he be so invested in the drawing of the Estrella that he’d actually create an entire fantasy civilization to back it? Not to mention the fact that Shanks had only ever seen Ace drawing scenes from real life. It simply didn’t add up that this was just a piece of art.

“That’s not all. If the images were all this…lighthearted, I wouldn’t be as worried, but there’s something that troubles me deeply. Look at this.” Ricky flipped through more pages, coming to rest on a scene Ace had drawn a while ago, the same one he’d pointed out to Ace when he confronted him.

It was the image of the pirate crew at lunch, the entire crew enjoying their meal. Most of the expressions were of joy, fun happiness, pleasure, and even though the people in the background were only silhouettes, most were in positions of merriment.

There was one key exception though, one that Ricky pointed out to him.

There was one person in the background, a silhouette like the others. He was in no position of joy or involvement, though, and none of those around him seemed to be in any way interacting with him. His shape was facing directly towards the point of capture, seemingly staring out of the image at the beholder.

From this angle it was easy to see the rabbit ears arching off the top of the humanistic head.

“Wha…”

“There’s more. Look at this.” Ricky flipped through yet more pages, this time coming to rest on the next image he’d shown Ace, the one of Shanks sleeping in the chair.

Once Ricky pointed them out, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were obvious and…frightening. Shanks didn’t like their expressions, those impossible smiles. They got under his skin and creeped him out.

What scared him more was that they were grinning right at his sleeping form.

“Who are those two?”

“Ace calls them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. He wrote an entire page on them like the Estrella. Said they live near the Gate, the apparent entrance to this “Wonderland.” He says he only created them recently, in an attempt to “turn the tide”, but I have no clue what that means. But that’s not what’s really important in this image. Look here.”

Ricky then drew his attention to the other side of the image, to the silhouette, closer than before. The rabbit ears still protruded from the anthropomorphic form, which seemed human save the ears.

It still stared straight at the point of capture, and even though Shanks couldn’t see its eyes he felt he was being watched.

“There’s still more, but I think you’ve seen enough.” Shanks gave a shocked nod and Ricky moved on. “This Rabbit is what worries me. He shows up in many of Ace’s drawings, far more frequently than anyone else Ace draws. Ace seems to have a fixation with this particular hallucination, and when he writes about Wonderland in reference to one of his drawings, be it a creature or a place, he’s almost always mentioned. This obsession worries me, and it only seems to be getting worse. After looking through these and having a similar reaction to yours, I decided I had to confront Ace about this. The fact that that Rabbit keeps getting closer worried me and still does, so I confronted Ace.

“At first he outright refused to talk to me about it, but after I showed him these images to disprove a lie that he used to try to turn me away, he became much more open. He told me a bit about Wonderland, about these things he’s been seeing. They all represent different pieces of his mind. The Mad Hatter, this one here,” Ricky flipped again through the pages, stopping on the image of the Hatter. “Represents Ace’s logical part of his mind. His intelligence. The Caterpillar,” Again he flipped through the pages, stopping on the almost Hindu-like image of the blue insect. “Represents Ace’s creativity. As…” Ricky hesitated, a little unsure how to continue.

“As he talked about it, he began to grow…frantic. Frightened. He seemed certain there was something coming to get him. Some _one_ , rather. He was terrified. I’d never seen him so scared. It was like he was having one of his nightmares but worse. He asked me if I could help him, if I could save him. I told him I’d do my best and I tried to calm him down, reassure him, but he only grew more frantic. At this point he was having a complete panic attack.” Ricky paused for a moment, losing himself in the memory. When he spoke again his voice was quiet. “He spoke as if he didn’t know me. Asked if he could really trust me.” He paused again, remembering the fear and mistrust and Ace’s eyes and trying not to let it show how much that had hurt. When he spoke again he forced his voice to be stronger. “He told me there was one more person I “needed to meet” and began looking through the notebook for another drawing. He grew progressively more frantic, begging me to save him. Well, as it turned out the drawing he was looking for wasn’t in that notebook. At this point Ace grew more scared than ever.

“He seemed convinced he was running out of time, that it wouldn’t be long before something terrible happened.” Ricky paused, seeing again those three blood-red words on the wall, mocking him. TICK TICK TICK. “I tried to convince him to come back to the infirmary with me so I could give him a sedative to help calm him down, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He told me I had to…I had to “ _see”_ before it was too late, had to know this last being of Wonderland.

“Ace was completely and utterly terrified at this point, shaking, stuttering, eyes darting around, flinching at nothing…I’d never seen him like that. He started to introduce this last being, but his voice, his speech…it was weird. It was like there was someone who kept cutting him off. After another moment of inner conflict, Ace finally told me his name, the name of the one that had been scaring him so much.

“He said there was a being in Wonderland named Mr. Savage.” Something about the name was…frightening. It was just that one word. Savage. It was just so violent and primal and animalistic and spoke of nothing beautiful or enjoyable. The word was brutal, nothing about it light or human. Ricky continued.

“After he said the name, for an instant I thought I heard something, almost like a voice but more like a roar, just at the very edge of perception. Then there was a noise like air rushing past something moving fast, and finally a loud noise like a slap. The blow hit Ace and he was carried to the ground with the force of it.

“I’d extended my right hand in order to lead him back to the infirmary a few minutes before this happened, and when Ace looked up after being hit he saw my outstretched arm and assumed I’d hit him. He looked so lost, so betrayed. He said that “they” had told him I’d attack him, that “they” had told him I couldn’t be trusted.” Ricky looked down, feeling something constrict in his chest.

“He said I was just like _him._ ” Shanks was having a hard time taking all this in, and didn’t know if he should believe Ricky or not, but all the same he wanted to comfort Ricky. Being told something like that, being compared to the monster that had tortured Ace for _weeks_ , that had to hurt. Ricky took a deep breath and shook himself, forcing down the hurt.

“After that he ran. I tried to look for him myself, but when I couldn’t find him I involved you and the rest of the crew. Then you found him, and he’s going to be okay now. That…brings us to present, I think.” A moment passed, then Ricky spoke again.

“If you don’t believe my story, captain, then believe the facts.” Ricky gestured to where Ace was lying, loosely pointing at where the right side of his face was already developing a bruise on his cheekbone. “Do you have any idea the kind of force it would take to make a mark like that?” Shanks glanced over his shoulder at Ace, then looked back to Ricky. He shook his head. “Well, it would be possible for someone as strong as I am, but in order to make the blow hard enough to make a mark like that _and_ carry Ace to the floor like it did, I’d have had to raise my arm high above my head before doing so.” Shanks’ eyes widened. Ricky knew he was getting through to Shanks now, that Shanks was understanding the final piece of evidence that proved his innocence. Shanks’ voice was quiet, breathy.

“And you can’t do that.” Ricky nodded assent.

“That’s right. Two years ago we got in a fight with a particularly nasty group of pirates and the rotator cuff in my left shoulder was completely severed by some bastard with a sword. You know I haven’t been able to lift my arm beyond about 80 degrees since then. I couldn’t have put enough force behind a blow in order to hurt Ace to the point of bruising like he is. I’ve shared my full story with you, presented all the evidence I have in my defense. I did not hurt Ace. It’s up to you now whether you believe me or not.” A long moment of silence followed.

“I…I believe an apology is in order.” Ricky blinked at Shanks. Shanks was looking at the floor, but after a moment he looked up, meeting Ricky’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I really am. It wasn’t fair of me to accuse and attack you like that, I should have trusted you more than that.” Shanks was mad at himself. How could he have doubted his own nakama? Of course Ricky would never hurt Ace! How could he have ever thought otherwise? He’d failed Ricky as a friend in his lack of trust, and he would just have to wait and see whether Ricky would forgive him or not.

A moment of surprised silence passed, then Ricky chuckled. Shanks looked up at him, shocked, and wasn’t prepared for the light punch he got on the arm. Ricky smiled at him.

“Idiot. You better not have put a dent in my wall.”

 

* * *

 

He leaned back from his position near the door. He’d been a bit annoyed at being kicked out of the room so shortly after arriving, but he didn’t protest. He knew the pirate captain had to have his little tantrum about the mark on Ace’s face. He’d listened, wondering exactly what _had_ transpired and driven Ace to this. That knowledge might help him in the future. He’d spent quite a lot of time trying to break Ace. More than he spent on most. Ace was special for one reason and one reason only.

He was interesting.

Very little in this world caught his interest. He didn’t build relationships with others. Relationships were pointless. Only to be used for gain. And they required time. Time he didn’t feel like wasting on something so uninteresting. Emotions didn’t exist for him. Happiness, sadness, love, anger…none. He felt none. Just logic. Calculations. The smooth inner-workings of a properly employed mind.

He could appreciate beauty, though.

His definition of beauty was different than most. He knew this, and he understood what others considered to be beautiful and could emulate the reaction, but he never saw the appeal of a fine painting or the soaring spires of a church. His first memory of _his_ definition of beauty came when he was just a boy, no more than 7 years old.

He saw a man die.

That in and of itself wasn’t beautiful. Death was everywhere. Not rare enough to be valuable.  No, the death wasn’t the extraordinary part. It was _how_ he died, the act of his death. That was the beauty.

The man had jumped from a building.

He’d seen the man standing on the roof. He remembered looking up, looking into the man’s face. The man had locked eyes with him, taken in his expression of bored curiosity. He’d been wondering what that was doing on the building. It hadn’t been interesting enough to actually pique his interest, but there was a quiet passing thrum of curiosity. The man had looked in his eyes and seen his boredom, his disinterest in the man and what the man was doing on the roof and what the man was going to do next. The man recognized he was only a passing thought in his mind. Less interesting than even the question of what he was going to eat for dinner that night. The man saw that. And then the man jumped.

And, _finally_ , there was something he could find interest in.

There was that moment of perfect silence as the man fell, and they still maintained eye contact. Even when the man hit the ground with the meaty crunch-splat expected after such a fall, he continued to stare straight forward in wonder, eyes wide. The man’s blood and a fleck of bone splattered onto the right side of his face warm and wet, yet he barely felt it.

All he could see was the man falling.

The seconds replayed themselves in his mind’s eye over and over and over again, even as the people around him ran for help that wouldn’t help, children screaming, women fainting. He stood there through it all, breathless, exhilarated. He licked dry lips, tasted the man’s blood on his tongue and didn’t care. His mother had come at him then, crouching before him, wiping the blood off his face,

It was clear to him that she had been terrified. She wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief, trying to suppress a shudder that he noticed anyway. He didn’t care, though, too wrapped up in the awe and wonder of what he’d just seen. When she spoke his name and took him into her arms, he realized she’d misinterpreted the expression on his face. She thought he was in shock, or traumatized.

He felt disdain for her then. For everyone. Because nobody could _see_. Nobody understood. None of them. Were they really so blind? They were stupid, worthless creatures, fulfilling only their dirty animal needs. They couldn’t understand the true beauty that had just been exposed.

He didn’t sleep that night. Couldn’t get his mind to relax the way it should. Always those instants of complete awe, complete perfection replayed themselves, over and over.

After that first sleepless night it became his goal to see, to find that beauty again.

He started with rodents. The field mice in his backyard were his first attempts at recreating that day. He dropped them out of trees, then from his roof. They splatted and died as the man had, and they did bring him a fleck of that awe he’d felt before, but there was something missing, something not right. The mice were seemingly as afraid as the man had been, but they were lacking something vital.

So he moved on, still seeking that perfection.

He trapped rabbits next, catching them live in special snares. He discovered they required a higher drop than the mice had after his first attempt with them ended with a squealing, bloody mess. So he began roaming further from home, searching for the right place.

A concealed grotto on the cliffed shore of his home island fit his criteria perfectly.

He dropped rabbits from here and again felt a piece of that same wonder, that same awe, but it wasn’t fulfilling, only made him want more. Rabbits weren’t enough, all the warrens on the island couldn’t slake his thirst.

One of his neighbor’s cats went next.

At first it seemed no more gratifying than the rabbits had been, but when he passed his neighbor’s house the next day, he found their other cat wandering about the yard, crying loudly.

In its face he recognized a piece of something he’d seen in the man’s eyes.

It wasn’t complete, though. Could never be complete. The cat didn’t understand enough of the world and of happiness and gratification. He made a mental note of that, storing it away under the section of information that most occupied his thoughts these past weeks. He referred to this section of information with two words.

The Fall.

It was then that he realized his gratification in the man’s death all those weeks ago hadn’t come solely from his physical fall, though that was something that held his interest, at least for now. No, it wasn’t the man’s stepping off a rooftop and letting gravity do the rest that interested him.

It was the Fall he’d seen in the man’s eyes.

The man had looked broken, like everything that had ever had meaning was now gone. Like there was nothing left to live for. Like death was his only option.

Nonetheless, the man had hesitated.

The man hesitated when they had locked gazes. It was as if the man had been searching for some purpose in his eyes, looking for something that could reanimate his life with meaning, bring back everything he’d lost.

But when that man had stared into his cold blue eyes, all he’d seen was boredom. Disinterest. Uncaring.

And _that_ was what pushed him over the edge.

After that, it hadn’t taken him long to get even closer to the perfection he longed for.

His next victim was a pregnant stray dog. He’d taken her in, fed her, trained her, went through the motions of loving her until she was entirely devoted to him. She had her puppies six weeks later.

He’d taken them all to his grotto, tied the bitch to a tree, and made her watch as he drowned each puppy.

Her reaction was interesting, to say the least. Worth the time he’d invested in her.

She went mad.

She struggled violently against the chain and collar about her neck, throwing herself forwards against the bonds. She frothed at the mouth and her eyes spun wildly in her head. She bit her own tongue off in her raging snaps at him, who always stayed beyond her reach.

She strangled herself on her bindings in her attempts to get free.

In her eyes he’d seen something achingly similar to what he’d seen in the man’s eyes all those months ago. She’d lost everything. The pups she’d instinctively loved and the human who’d given her a home. Her whole world had been turned upside down and then smashed. Yet…her Fall had been so much different than the man’s. In her swiveling eyes that he watched drain of sanity he’d seen the same loss and hopelessness he’d seen in the man, yet her reaction had been so different.

It was then that he realized his calling in life. Then he knew how he truly wanted to invest his limited time.

He would find every way that every being could possibly break. Make a catalogue of every reaction he could, seeking something to surpass even the perfection of that first one he’d witnessed.

He joined the Marines as soon as possible.

It was a simple deduction. He needed a way of getting access to humans that nobody would mind if he broke without attracting the attention of the World Government. He knew they often used torture as a method of extracting information from criminals, and through his experimentation he’d discovered this was one of the most efficient ways of breaking someone down. Imprison them, taking them away from their homes, families, and friends, and then torment them to the point where there’s no more strength, no more courage.

Then he’d give them a final push tailored to their individual weaknesses and relish in their Fall.

He’d become a surgeon out of necessity. The torturing was messy and he needed to be able to judge and gauge how far he could physically push someone without them dying. He’d push people to the brink of death over and over again only to pull them back at the last possible moment, stealing away their one chance of release from him. It was an efficient way of breaking people, repeatedly denying them that one thing that should come naturally to anyone and be impossible to take away.

But he did. Over and over and over again.

His catalogue grew as the years went by, and that exhilaration never faded. Every time he discovered a new Fall, a new way someone became less than human, he felt he grew closer to that one original Fall he’d witnessed.

Eventually, though, the responses began to repeat. He began to wonder if maybe he’d reached the end of all the ways the human mind could snap. He felt disappointment. One of the very, very few times in his life he’d ever felt anything. Nothing had ever surpassed that first Fall. No one had Fallen because of him in the same way that first man had. Despite all his perfected techniques, he’d never been able to get inside someone again the way he had that first day. He began to wonder if he ever would.

And then Ace had come along.

At first Ace had been just like the others, defiant, strong, brave. It was only when Ace refused to scream that first day when he noticed something different about Ace. Something most didn’t have much of.

Pride.

Ace held his head high, wouldn’t even scream that first day. Forced himself to stand after losing that much blood in that little time.

He knew this was one of Ace’s greatest assets, one of the things he’d have to take away if he were to Fall. But the proud ones always Fell hardest, Fell from the highest points. He’d break that pride completely apart. It was the quickest way through. Destroy what one thinks of themselves, how one subconsciously feels about oneself, and that person has reached a very, very fragile place.

Ace’s loyalty and companionship with Sabo had surprised him and he realized he’d have to break these apart too before he could get at Ace’s pride. Killing off the relationships Ace had built up and carefully arranging everything so the guilt would lay heavily on Ace worked well. It was when Ace had spoken to Sabo’s face like it were alive and talking back that he began to realize that Ace’s Fall may be something truly special.

The next day he’d reaped the fruits of his labor.

It was surprising when he reached Ace’s physical limits before his mental ones. He’d never seen anyone go that far, especially not a child. He realized Ace’s pride was the only thing left to him and he knew _just_ how to take it away.

But then Ace had done something unexpected.

Ace had fought back. Weeks of careful work seemed to have evaporated to nothing and _he had no idea why._ He’d begun to look forward to Ace’s Fall, anticipating what it would be like, trying to guess how it would appear. Part of him wondered if this would be that special Fall, the first to surpass the original.

And then Ace had spat that back in his face.

He was not about to let _years_ of preparation and anticipation go to waste. Not going to waste any more time playing around. Ace would break and he would break _today._ So he broke Ace’s fingers, shoving Ace back into his place, taking away the piece of Ace’s pride that Ace had somehow regained.

As he was about to leave, about to make preparations for the nudge that would send Ace down, he looked into Ace’s eyes and discovered something.

He was inside Ace’s head, just like he’d been in that man’s all those years ago.

He tried to make the most of this opportunity, wondering if cruel words would be enough to send Ace Falling, in a state of vulnerability as he was. The words he’d spoke hadn’t been enough to send Ace completely over the edge, but he thought he saw something in Ace’s eyes shift. Something new building itself.

It reminded him of the pregnant dog he’d made Fall all that time ago.

He left Ace then, knowing words hadn’t been enough and not really minding. After what had just happened, Ace’s Fall was sure to truly be something special.

He returned about an hour later, 11 men in tow.

It had all gone exactly as planned, and he watched and wondered how many men it would take before Ace Fell. He knew they were close when Ace cried for the first time in front of him. This was the final sign that Ace wasn’t even holding onto his pride anymore.

He knew Ace had changed when the tears stopped and his body went slack.

He let the other men have their way, a promise was a promise after all, but was impatient to study the results of all this invested time.

When the last man left, he approached Ace again, pulling up his shorts and rolling him over onto his back. What he saw confused, baffled him, even.

Ace wasn’t like any of the others he’d seen Fall.

He’d seen others give up, surrendering themselves over to the torment, recognizing it as the only life they’d ever had. While the others had been raping the boy, he’d been wondering if that had been what happened when Ace went limp like that. It wasn’t the case though.

His mind couldn’t formulate a response to this reaction. Ace’s eyes were cloudy, as if dead, and he showed no response at all to any stimuli whatsoever. He’d been confused, and hadn’t known enough to take stock of the situation. It was possible this was a new type of Fall, but he hadn’t felt that rush, the burst of complete exhilaration…

Further research revealed that Ace hadn’t Fallen at all.

He was angry. How _dare_ Ace disobey him like that! How _dare_ he undermine all the time he’d spent in preparation of a truly spectacular Fall. He was completely enraged.

He’d spent _weeks_ pushing Ace to the limits, bringing him closer and closer to the precipice. He’d finally gotten him there and was prepared to witness a Fall unlike any other. He’d pushed Ace over that edge, awaiting that gratifying rush, but Ace had disobeyed him to the last.

Ace hadn’t Fallen. He’d pushed Ace over that edge that so many had careened over and down before and Ace had Flown.

Flown away. Out of reach.

But that couldn’t be it, simply _couldn’t_ be the end of the story. He needed to complete his catalogue and he was now certain that Ace was the final piece. He’d needed Ace to complete his search and Ace had wriggled from his hands and out of his reach like a _worm_. How _dare_ that insolent brat escape. The only freedom he ever granted anyone was death, yet Ace had stolen a kind of freedom from his hands.

He’d just have to wait. He knew he’d have another opportunity. This wasn’t the end of the story and nobody can hide forever. He’d already invested so much time, and Ace was a true masterpiece of his craft. Surely he could spare a little more to complete his collection?

When the Red Haired Pirates had attacked the ship, he instantly knew what he had to do. He traveled to the infirmary, killed the doctor, and swapped clothes with him. Based on research, he knew Red Haired Shanks fought with a sword, and a few careful, practiced knife-strokes had the former doctor looking like he’d been on the wrong side of an incoming attack.

He built his false identity in the time it took for Shanks to find him in that room.

Ever since he was a child, he’d been able to stunningly emulate any emotion anyone ever had. It had amazed those that knew him how well he could impersonate people. He did it through a careful observation of body language, facial expressions, and voice intonations. With his mental database of how humans behaved while under the influence of various emotions, he was able to assemble all the necessary information for a complete, flawless enactment of the reaction referred to as “fear.”

The pirates had been overconfident and overly sympathetic. All it took was some shaking, some stuttering, and an assumed name later and he was aboard the ship and practically free from suspicion. Nobody expected any threat from the meek, nervous doctor.

He could bide his time for as long as need be. It didn’t matter to him if he had to wait years. He would see Ace Fall. He would. And he would make sure to be there when Ace hit the ground, poised to show Ace _exactly_ how impatient he’d been. There would be no miraculous escape, no second Flight. Ace thought he could get away, fly out of reach. He would make sure to break his wings before he could get the chance.

Because there’s nothing more beautiful than watching something Falling from a great height.

He smiled and pushed himself off the wall. It was almost time. Everything had been made ready. The proper time was finally drawing near. One final act. One last lie.

One last lie and then Edward Hare wouldn’t have to pretend to be human anymore.

 

* * *

 

When Ace began to show signs of waking, Ricky thought it best if he leave the room. He didn’t want Ace to be afraid of him, but until Shanks explained that it wasn’t Ricky who’d hit Ace, Ricky thought it best if they avoid all contact. It hurt to know that Ace would be afraid of him if he saw him, but that was just the way things were and they were going to do their best to remedy the situation.

Ricky waited outside while Shanks spoke to Ace. After several moments of muffled conversation, Shanks opened the door.

“You can come in now. I explained about your shoulder and I think Ace is ready to see you.” Ricky nodded anxiously, and when Shanks stepped back he walked through the door.

When Ace first saw Ricky, his immediate, involuntary reflex was to pull back, to shy away. Ricky saw this and tried not to feel like someone had just punched him in the stomach. He remained where he was, practically on the other side of the room from Ace, giving Ace plenty of space.

Ace forced his shoulders to relax, but one had still remained tightly clenching a fistful of bed sheet. He forced himself to meet Ricky’s eyes, to look at his face. Ricky looked back and there was a moment of silence. Ace’s eyes flicked over Ricky’s left shoulder for an instant, then returned to his face before he looked completely away, instead staring down at the blanket on his lap.

“Shanks…Shanks said you can’t lift your arm high enough to have been the one that hit me.” The words made something in Ricky’s heart relax and he felt he could breathe again. For a minute he’d feared that Ace would never speak to him again.

“That’s right. The rota-“

“Prove it.” Ricky blinked in surprise. Ace’s eyes were back on him, and his gaze was cold. His voice had been hard, direct. Ricky nodded, surprise showing on his face.

“…Okay.” He took a step closer, but stopped when Ace flinched back. “…May I?” Ace seemed to consider the question for a moment, and glanced at Shanks. Seemingly reassured by his presence, he nodded. _Mr. Savage can’t be here now. Shanks doesn’t know about him. He can’t exist in Shanks’ reality. As long as Shanks is in the room I should be safe, unless this_ is _Mr. Savage…but I need some way of proving this isn’t. Shanks knows about the injury the real Ricky sustained, but Mr. Savage didn’t. There’s no way he could replicate it based on my knowledge either, because I don’t know anything about rotator cuffs or anything like that._ Ricky approached slowly, letting Ace grow accustomed to his presence. He stopped when he was right beside Ace and sat on the floor next to Ace’s bed, trying not to notice how Ace leaned away from his proximity.

“Put your first two fingers on my right shoulder.” He placed his own first two fingers over the correct place on the joint, demonstrating. “Here.” He removed his hand and waited. Ace hesitated for an instant, then reached out slowly with his left hand. He placed his fingers where Ricky had indicated.

Ricky moved the arm slowly, not so fast as to startle or scare Ace. He paused twice, first at 90 degrees, then at about 130 degrees. Ace’s fingers remained on his shoulder the whole time, and when he reached the 130 degree angle he left his arm there.

“Did you feel that? Could you feel how the muscle in my shoulder moved?” Ace nodded, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Ricky turned so his left shoulder was closer to Ace and indicated Ace should put his fingers in the same place on this shoulder.

Ricky raised his arm equally slowly this time, but it stopped about 8 degrees short of a right angle, his jaw clenched with pain. He forced himself to leave the arm there, and watched Ace’s face, the look of curiosity and then understanding that spread across his features.

“It didn’t move that time.” Ricky nodded and released his arm, letting it fall back to a more comfortable position. “It was like there was something missing in your shoulder.”

“That’s because there is, Ace. There’s a specific, important muscle that connects two parts of your shoulder. Mine was cut on the left side in combat. It was completely severed. I won’t ever be able to completely raise my arm again. Since its not being used, the muscle has become stunted over time. That’s why you feel a tiny dip in my shoulder. That’s where the muscle is supposed to go, but I don’t have it anymore.” Ace was looking in his face, meeting his eyes. When Ricky finished. He nodded. A smile came to his face, relieved and tired.

“So it wasn’t you that hit me.” Ace leaned back. Ricky nodded. A smile came to his face too,

“That’s right, Ace. So there’s no need to be scared.” Ace nodded again.

“Sorry I…Sorry I thought it was you.”

“It was perfectly understandable in the context. Don’t worry about it.” A short silence followed, then Ricky spoke again. “…If I may ask, who was it that hit you?” Ace’s head snapped to the side, wide eyes focused on Ricky.

“Don’t ask that. Don’t _ever_ ask that.” His eyes darted over Ricky’s shoulder again, then returned to his face. Ricky paused for a moment. He’d seen Ace’s eyes move the first time, when he first entered the room, and then again just now. It was time to figure out what Ace was looking at.

“…Ace, is someone from Wonderland in the room?” A laugh sounded, and Ace’s eyes widened.

“Look at him. You’ve been awake for two minutes and he already thinks you’re crazy.” Ace glared over Ricky’s shoulder at the figure.

“Shut up. Nobody asked for your opinion.” It shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t provide it, though.” A smile, tiny yet victorious came to Ace’s face.

“You can’t do anything to me right now. Shanks is here and Shanks doesn’t know enough about you for him to be afraid of you. Ricky got scared when I talked to him about it so you became real to him. You entered his perception and thus his reality and as a threat no less. But not Shanks. And you can’t impersonate him as flawlessly either.” The figure tsked twice.

“You have so _little_ faith in me, Ace. Shanks thought it was ol’ Doc over here that hit you, and he got upset. Ricky had to explain it, of course, or else face Shanks’ wrath. What do you think was the first thing they talked about?” The figure laughed. “And Shanks is such a spineless bitch. He’s even scared of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” The figure shook its head. “Can’t do anything to you? Bullshit. I could kill you right now. But that’s not what I want. Oh no. And I only and always get what I want.” Fear began to creep up Ace’s spine.

“What is it you want?” An impossible, insane grin spread across the figure’s face.

“I want you to be afraid. I want them to be afraid. I want them to be afraid of you. I want you to be afraid of yourself.” The figure moved then. It was no longer behind Ricky but directly behind Ace, its face directly beside Ace’s, breath hot and vile on his neck and cheek. It moved Ace’s hair out of the way and whispered into his ear. “I don’t have to kill you because one day I’m going to get you to kill yourself. That’s how I win this game, Ace. That’s the only way this game will ever end. You can’t get away from me, you never will. One day I’ll be too much and you won’t be able to take it anymore and then…nothing. _Glorious_ nothing.” Ace’s voice was almost frozen in his throat.

“But then you’ll be dead too.” It jerked sharply on Ace’s hair as it threw its head back, spreading its arms wide and grinning at the ceiling.

“And I’ll go laughing my way down into the hell from whence I came, dragging you along with me. We can burn forever, then. But enough about our wonderful future.” He turned his grin towards Ace, eyes wide and mad. “Wanna play a game?”

“No.” The figure’s face went dead serious then. The smile left and the eyes went impossibly hard, burning into Ace’s very soul. His voice was cold, monotone.

“That’s not an answer I like to hear, Ace.” Its grip on his hair tightened and he pulled Ace’s head back slowly until he could look into Ace’s eyes. “You wouldn’t want to make me _angry_ now, would you Ace?” Ace was wincing at the pressure on his scalp.

“…No.” The pressure on his hair was gone instantly, the smile back on the figure’s face.

“Good. Glad to hear it. So, I’ll ask again. Wanna play a game?”

“…Fine. What is it?” Ace had the feeling something bad was about to happen. The figure’s grin widened.

“It’s something I call Puppet Show.” The figure released his hair just long enough to draw his hand back for an instant, then dart forward.

Ace gave a gasp of pain as the thing’s fingers pierced through the skin on the back of his neck. The hand only sunk further in, the fingers wrapping around his spine. Simultaneously, its other hand drove through Ace’s back at about waist level, these fingers also grabbing onto the spine. They settled there, grasping the top and bottom of his vertebrae firmly. Ace tried to pull away, but found himself frozen.

It jerked once sharply and Ace went still.

It was one of the strangest things he’d ever experienced. He was still sitting in his mind, but was no longer in control of his body. He couldn’t even speak out loud. He had no way of resisting this foreign control and could only watch what happened next.

Ricky was staring at Ace with wide eyes. It would seem Ace had forgiven him for their misunderstanding, but now he was having some kind of…hallucination episode. He understood how Yassop must have felt now, hearing only one side of a conversation. And as it progressed he began to grow just a touch nervous with what was being said.

When Ace went still he wondered if it was over and reached out slowly, trying to get Ace’s attention. He placed his hand very, very gently on Ace’s shoulder.

“Ace, are you alright?” His voice was gentle, quiet. He knew now that hallucinations were usually accompanied by strong emotional responses, namely fear, and didn’t want Ace to freak out. Ace watched as his body’s head turned and smiled at Ricky, one hand reaching up and grasping his wrist from its place on his shoulder. His grip was firm, not quite to the point of being uncomfortable, but it was certainly unexpected for the doctor. Ace’s body smiled at Ricky.

“Ace isn’t here right now, Doc. If you’d like to leave a message, though, I’ll make sure he gets it.” Ricky’s eyes widened. He jerked his hand out of Ace’s body’s grasp and stood, staring into Ace’s body’s eyes.

“Who are you?” His voice was hard. Shanks blinked from his position leaning against the wall and looked at Ricky, confused.

“It’s Ace, Ricky. Have you gone blind?” Ricky maintained eye contact with Ace’s smiling body, but spoke to Shanks.

“This isn’t Ace, captain.” His words were directed once more at Ace’s body. “I ask again. Who. Are. you?” Ace’s body sighed and stood out of the bed.

“You know, you’re no fun at all. You sound just like Caterpillar. He asks that question all the time. Besides, we’ve already met, remember?”  He turned to Shanks. “You’re not very perceptive, are you? You honestly can’t tell the difference between me and your friend?” He took a step closer, smile coming to his face. “Shall I show you, then?” He took a step closer. “Well? What do you say?” Another step. “Shall I show you things beyond your imagining?” Another step. “Do you want to _see? See_ as your doctor failed to?” He was right before Shanks now. He reached out, aiming to grip Shanks’ loose wrist as Shanks stared down at him in surprise.

“Don’t touch him.” Ace’s body stopped moving, feeling the weight of Ricky’s grip on his shoulder. The smile dropped from his face. “Well, Doc, I’m outright shocked. First you hit me, now you’re going to stop me from talking to my friend? Are you really so like Hare?”

“I didn’t hit _Ace_ and I’m nothing like that monster.” Ace’s body spun fast and grabbed Ricky’s wrist, twisting it at a painful angle.

“Oh but don’tcha know, Doc, down here we think you are. I’ve been here long enough to know what makes Ace tick, what he’s afraid of.” The grin came back to his face. “And wouldn’tcha know it? He’s scared of _you_ , Doc. Of course, I did have _some_ hand in that, just like I had a hand in his fear of Shanks. But you were easier. It’s easier for him to be scared of you than of Shanks. That fear lets me impersonate you. Whether or not it was you that hit Ace is irrelevant. He thinks it was and no matter what you say or do he always will.

“You’ve fallen out of his trust now, doctor, and there will be no getting it back, no matter what you say.” The body laughed. “He’ll never even _mention_ Wonderland to you again, and certainly not me.”  Ricky’s eyes widened.

“It’s you. You’re Mr. Savage.” The body grinned up at him.

“Indeed. Did you like my message to you, Doc? Well, you were too slow. Time’s run out.”

“You were the one who wrote on the wall.” Ace’s body clapped his hands together, faking delight.

“Very good! Give the boy a prize, he actually has a brain. How the hell could Ace have gotten up to the wall near the ceiling? Of course he had help.” Ace’s body turned more fully, still gripping Ricky’s wrist. “Now then. Aren’t you going to ask of me what you asked of Ace about the others? Where are your questions, Doc? You wanted, needed proof that Ace’s mind is as broken as it is. Right now you’re thinking he has Multiple Personality Disorder, right? Not terribly far from the mark, but incorrect. So…here’s the deal. I’ll give you three questions. Three questions that I’ll answer truthfully. After that, I’ll let Ace go.”

“…Are you sure? There doesn’t seem to be much benefit for you.” Ricky didn’t want there to be any strings attached, but somehow he doubted that was how this game worked. Ace’s body looked up at him coldly.

“What I want and what I’ll gain is none of your concern. Do you really want to pass up this opportunity, Doc? Let me tell you, there’s a lot about Wonderland that Ace has still hidden from you. And I know some things better than even Ace does. One, for example, is that this is it. Time’s run out, Doc. Ask you’re questions quickly, would you? We’re on a tight schedule here.” Ricky stared down into Ace’s body’s eyes for another moment, then spoke again.

“…Why did Ace create Wonderland?” Ace’s body sighed.

“’The mind is its own place, and in itself

can create a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.’ John Milton, Paradise Lost.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Ricky’s voice was hard. Ace’s body only laughed.

“Sure it does, Doc. Surely you’re capable of analyzing literature?” He faked a disappointed sigh. “And I had _such_ high hopes for your intelligence.” Ricky shook his head and thought for a moment. He refused to sink to this baiting. He had two more questions, he wanted to use them carefully.

“If Wonderland is Ace’s refuge, why are you in it? He’s clearly frightened of you, why would he have something in there that frightens him?” Ace’s face pouted.

“That was a touch rude, Doc. Wonderland is Ace’s mind. As much as you’d all like to deny it, I am a part, now a strong part, of Ace’s psyche. He didn’t consciously put me in Wonderland, but he’ll never be able to expel me from it, nor could he have denied me entrance if he’d tried.” A smile came to Ace’s face. “What’s it gonna be, Doc? Your last question?” Ricky considered it. There was no way to get all of the information he wanted with just one question. He thought deeply for a moment, closing his eyes. Should he ask more about Wonderland? Should he be more specific? He wanted to know more of this “Mr. Savage.” He didn’t seem like a friendly and as they say, “know your enemy.” He paused, considering how to phrase it.

“…Where is it _you_ live, Mr. Savage? Hatter lives in Ace’s mind, Caterpillar in Ace’s hands, so where do you come in?” A moment of quiet passed as Ace stared up at the doctor.

“That’s not a fair question, Doc. You’ve asked two in one. But I’ll answer.” A smile found its way onto Ace’s mouth.

“I live in the wounded. And in the weak. And now?” Something happened, something strange. There was a blur, like movement, and suddenly he wasn’t himself anymore. His perspective had changed and he was staring up into his own face, which grinned back at him.

He was staring out of Ace’s eyes.

“And now I live in you, Doctor.”

Ricky jerked up with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. He looked around the room wildly, heart pounding in his chest.

 _A dream? But…when did I fall asleep?_ He couldn’t remember. He looked over and saw Ace in his bed, sleeping. Shanks had left at some point, and the door was a tiny bit ajar. Ricky rubbed his eyes. _What a bizarre dream._ As he pulled his hand away, he noticed a shaking in his fingers. He almost laughed at himself. _It’s been a while since I’ve had a nightmare. Huh. Guess I kinda forgot how it feels._ He pushed himself to his feet.

 _I think I’ll get some fresh air. It feels a bit cramped in here._ He walked to the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.

The noise roused Ace, who’d really only been dozing. He looked around the room, a little surprised to find it empty. He looked over to the left corner of the room, glaring. “Why’d you have to do that? You scared him!”

Mr. Savage grinned up at him a thousand times from the broken shards of mirror on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Ace approached Ricky silently, trying to gauge what state of mind Ricky was in from the tension in his shoulders. He seemed more relaxed than he had been before, and Ace could understand that. There was something about the sea wind that blew away the darkness and doubts Mr. Savage always brought with him. He walked up beside Ricky, leaning against the railing and staring out at the sea next to him.

“Dream?” Ricky glanced down at Ace, surprised.

“Yeah. Weird nightmare.” Ace nodded.

“…They suck, don’t they?” Ricky laughed.

“Sure do.” A quiet moment passed, Ricky contemplating Ace and his being here, trying to comfort Ricky as Ricky had tried to comfort Ace in the past when Ace woke from his own nightmares. Ricky thought for another moment, then spoke again.

“Hey, Ace…?” Ace looked at him, indicating Ricky had his attention. “Do you think…You could tell me more about Mr. Savage?” Ace’s eyes widened and he shook his head, turning back to look out at the sea.

“No. I can’t.” He touched the bandaging on his left arm. “And we all know how well it worked out the last time I tried.” Ricky turned to look out at the sea again too.

“Okay. I won’t press the issue. But you should try to talk about it some time.” Ace nodded, but he knew he’d never actually follow through on Ricky’s implicit request. He couldn’t and never would talk about Mr. Savage again. It gave Mr. Savage too much power, to be recognized like that.

A long moment of silence passed, quiet but for the sighing of the waves. A thought occurred to Ricky and he turned to Ace again.

“I almost forgot to tell you! There’s someone who wants to meet you.” Ace turned to Ricky, confusion on his face.

“But I’ve…I’ve already met all of the crew.” _Time’s run out, Ace._ Ricky smiled down at him.

“This guy’s special. You’ve never met him before, and he’s fairly anxious to meet you.” _Tick, Tick, Tick. I warned you, Ace._ Ace could hear footsteps approaching from a ways away, but didn’t turn. Cold dread was beginning to creep up his spine. He swallowed hard, trying not to let his fear be heard in his voice.

“What’s his name?” The footsteps were much closer now. _Time’s run out, Ace._ Ace’s eyes softly closed as the footsteps stopped close behind him. His lungs were trying to shrivel up and die, and his heart was beating so fast it hurt. Ricky was smiling over Ace’s shoulder at the man who’d stopped just behind him.

“His name’s Gabriel Gowdel. He saved your life.” _Oh Ricky you poor naïve fool. Run. Don’t let him get you too._ Ace turned his eyes up to Ricky’s face, expression displaying the terror he felt.

“Ricky, Gabriel Gowdel died five weeks ago.”

“Ace, lying isn’t nice.” Ricky was looking between Ace’s face and the man behind him, confusion written on his features. Ace’s terror only grew, pushing its way up his throat.

“Ricky, I thought you said Shanks killed the captain.” Ace’s voice was fast and panicked. He was _terrified._ He’d run out of time and there was nothing more he could do, nowhere to run, no way to hide.

Ricky’s eyes darted to the face behind Ace and widened. He was reaching for his belt, for the knife he kept strapped there at all times, but Ace already knew what was about to happen. Because, as _he’d_ said, Ace was out of time.

Ricky’s knife hadn’t made it clear of its sheath by the time Ace had been jerked back, left arm twisted painfully behind his back, hand about his throat.

“Don’t move or I snap his neck.” Ricky froze where he was, knife half drawn. He looked between Ace’s terrified face and the face of the man holding him.

“You lying bastard! You’re no doctor. You’re the captain of that ship, the one who started this whole mess! You’re the one that took Ace!” The man smiled.

“Nice to meet you. My name’s Edward Hare.”

“Not for long.” Ricky’s voice was a snarl. “Yassop!”

“Your sniper’s a talented man, but there’s one blind spot from that crow’s nest he loves to sit in. Care to guess where it is?” Ricky’s eyes widened in surprise before he glared again at the marine.

“You sneaky son of a bitch.” Hare only chuckled in response. Others were beginning to come out on deck, having heard Ricky’s yell. Shanks was the last to come on the scene. He looked between Ricky, Ace, and Hare. He began to march closer.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Ricky held his arm out, stopping Shanks before he got any closer to Hare.

“That man is the marine captain. He lied to us. That’s Edward Hare.” Shanks stared at the man in shock for a moment.

“That’s him? I thought he was dead.”

“Apparently not.”

“Well we’ll remedy that soon enough.” Shanks glared at the man for a moment, then turned to Ace. He put a warm smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, Ace. We’re going to get you out of this. This bastard’s not leaving this ship alive.” Ace seemed to wake up then and pulled against Hare’s grip, wide, desperate eyes staring into Shanks.

“Don’t let him take me again, _please!_ Just kill me! I’d rather die than go back! You can’t save me, Shanks. He’s too clever for that! Just kill me before hurts me again! Please, Shanks!”

“Aw, Ace. I’m put out. Don’t you enjoy my company?” Hare’s voice was mocking. Ace’s face pulled into a snarl.

“Fuck you!” Hare chuckled.

“But you’ve already done that, remember?” Ace’s eyes widened and he froze. Shanks was staring at Hare in complete shock. Marco raised a hand to his mouth.

“Oh shit. He’s going to tell them.”

“What did you just say?” Shanks’ voice was quiet, containing the same utter shock that was written on his face. His eyes were wide, and the same expression showed on the faces behind him. Ace grit his teeth and hissed at Hare.

“Shut _up_!” Hare glanced between Ace and the expression on Shanks’ face. Hare’s face fell into a look of surprise, then a lecherous, close-lipped smile crawled up to replace it. His eyes were focused only on Shanks now.

“Oh he never _told_ you.” Hare looked at the faces of the rest of the crew, malicious interest and pleased surprise on his face. “Any of you.” He glanced at Ricky, then looked back down to Ace. “You know you really aught to tell your _shrink_ everything, Ace.”

“Stop talking _right now._ ”

“No I really think it’d be beneficial to your health if we got everything out in the open now, don't you?” Shanks was looking between the two, and something in his chest was constricting painfully, telling him whatever was going to be said was going to do no less than break his heart. Ace writhed in Hare’s grip, but Hare’s solid hold on his throat prevented him from struggling effectively. The smile was still on Hare’s face, and he seemed to barely notice Ace’s wriggling. His grip on Ace’s wrist didn’t loosen, and when Ace refused to stop his squirming Hare twisted his arm further up behind his back, eliciting a hiss of pain. Hare bent down so his face came next to Ace’s and Ace froze, petrified. Hare looked up, meeting Shanks’ eyes, a dark glint in his own. ”Your friend here has a little secret he’s been keeping from you.” Hare turned his attention back to Ace, a look of genuine curiosity on his face. “And why is that? You’re really quite the enigma. Is it possible you’re actually capable of shame?”

“What are you talking about?” Shanks had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and felt a deep dread coming over him. Ace’s mind was racing desperately. If he didn’t get away _now,_ all his lies were going to come crashing down around his ears and they would _know._ They would see _exactly_ how broken and disgusting and _used_ Ace was. Hare continued on mercilessly.

“You know, as the son of the Pirate King, I would have expected him to have at least _some_ pride, but it would seem the apple has fallen rather far from the tree.”

“Enough bullshit, what do you mean?” Shanks could tell Hare was enjoying this, but he was done playing this game. He had to save Ace, yes, but he had to know what Hare would say next. Hare chuckled quietly at Shanks’ forceful impatience.

“Your friend isn’t the innocent child you seem to believe he is. Honestly, I’ve never even seen _prostitutes_ behave so shamelessly.” Hare paused for a moment, smile still on his face. “You see, the voyage to Impel Down is quite long. Quite… _lonely._ Your friend helped make the nights shorter.” Ace was trying to shrink in on himself, away from the look of complete shock and horror that had come onto Shanks’ face. Shanks shook his head and took a step back, staring at Hare with wide eyes.

“You’re lying!” Hare smiled cruelly.

“Oh but am I? _Look at his face_ and tell me what I’m saying isn’t true.” Ace couldn’t meet Shanks’ eyes. He stared at the floor, face angled away. Shanks’ heart was falling to pieces inside his chest. It all made sense now. Ace’s complete aversion to physical contact, the unease in his face and voice whenever someone looked at him for too long, the tension in his shoulders whenever someone so much as brushed against his bare skin…and the nightmares. Shanks remembered Ace waking up once, tears on his face, calling himself disgusting and dirty and _stained_.

And it all made sense now.

His sorrow and guilt nearly brought tears to his eyes, and he wanted to fall to his knees but knew he couldn’t. Rising inside him was a black tide of anger, shoving his remorse out of the way and occupying his mind.

“You’re a _monster!”_ The words were nearly a roar and Ace flinched at them while Hare only chuckled. “You despicable, inhuman _animal!_ How fucking sick do you have to be to rape a _ten-year-old boy?!”_ The smile remained on Hare’s face, unfazed by Shanks’ words. He acted nonchalant, no real emotion in his voice besides a mocking boredom.

“I don’t think it really counts as rape when it’s consensual.” That froze Shanks where he stood.

“Oh you fucking _liar!_ ” Marco knew nobody but Thatch and Whitebeard could hear his outburst, but he couldn’t help it. Righteous fury pumped through his blood and he was out for _vengeance._

Hare lifted his hand from its position at Ace’s neck and caressed the side of Ace’s face down to his throat again, eyes locked on Shanks’ the whole time. Ace shied away from the touch, but couldn’t pull away because of Hare’s grip on his left wrist. Ace’s breath hitched in his throat and he trembled lightly, fear plain on his face. Shanks was looking at Ace now, and still Ace could not meet his eyes.

“…Ace…?” Shanks’ voice sounded so lost, so broken. And yet…Ace couldn’t deny Hare’s accusation. He turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. A single tear rolled down from his left eye.

Ace’s entire reality consisted of nothing but complete self-loathing. Hare was right. He was shameful, he was disgusting, he was no more than a toy to be completely used up and broken. All of these must be true because they were based on that one truth, that one truth that Ace couldn’t deny.

He hadn’t fought back.

He had tried, sure. But trying only means something if you succeed.

“Our little _whore_ was quite shameless.” Hare kneeled down so his face was right next to Ace’s and looked at him. His face was so close Ace could feel his breath on his cheek and neck. Ace’s body was tense and his breath froze in his throat. He wanted to pull away but found himself truly petrified with fear. Having Hare this close, this present, this real completely terrified Ace and for the first time it sunk in that Hare could truly do anything to him right now, regardless of the crew of pirates standing nearby. They wouldn’t, couldn’t do anything as long as Ace’s life was threatened. Hare once again had him completely cornered.

Ace was helpless.

“And when was it that Ace’s mind finally broke?” The cruel smile was still on Hare’s face and his eyes showed his enjoyment of breaking Ace and Shanks down in one fell swoop. Hare looked back to Shanks, smirk full of sadistic enjoyment painted on his face. “I think it was somewhere between Thompson and White.”

Shanks went into a state of denial again. He truly couldn’t believe it. Not only had this happened once, but _three times?_ At _least?_ Hare was still half-smirking at Shanks. Shanks’ heart was falling to bits inside his chest. _He must have been so scared, in so much pain…_ “There’s something else you should know too.” Shanks didn’t want to hear any more. Hare continued on, seeing the pirate’s heart shattering. The cruel smile widened.

“He was absolutely convinced you’d come to save him.” Hare allowed a pause, savoring the look of pain that came into Shanks’ eyes. A moment later, he faked a disappointed sigh. “But, alas, you never showed. A pity, really. I’m sure you could have joined in the fun. I doubt Ace would have minded, as willing as he was for all the others. And there were others. All in one night, no less. Our little harlot must have been quite good at his craft to get through so many so efficiently. How many came to you that night, Ace?” He looked back up to Shanks, cruel smile in place. “I stopped counting after 10.” Shanks couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Any guilt he had felt before over what Ace had suffered while he was too late was utterly _insignificant_ compared to what he felt now. The weight of his failures was nearly crushing him. 10 men? _More?_ _In one night?_ How could he have allowed Ace to go through something like that? And Ace had still believed in him, believed that Shanks would be there to save him, to protect him from something as disgustingly _inhuman_ as what Hare and those men had done to him.

And he had failed.

It was as simple as that. There was no denying it, no other, kinder way of phrasing it. He had failed Ace when Ace had needed him most. He had broken his promise.

The Whitebeard Pirates didn’t have any kind of close bond or alliance with the Red Haired Pirates, but Marco didn’t think he’d ever seen any single person who looked more like they needed support than Red Haired Shanks did at that moment. The man looked like everything he’d ever lived for had been a lie, like he was so totally lost, like what he believed he stood for had all been completely torn away from him and smashed on the ground. He looked practically a child again.

Marco had always found Shanks somewhat annoying, his petulant antics nothing more than obnoxious distractions, but for the moment all of that was forgotten because as childish as he was, as annoying as Marco found him, he was still human and at that moment, Marco wanted nothing so much as to walk through the invisible barrier between him and the scene, kick Hare’s fucking _head_ off, and tell Shanks everything was going to be okay.

Ace couldn’t believe this was happening. Every word Hare said served only to bring him lower, break him down more. He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to sink any deeper than he had been before, but he was being proved entirely wrong in that assumption. _Why does the world always have to prove me wrong? Every time something seems to be going_ right _for once in my life, I’m brought to my knees again. What kind of reality could do that to someone?_ A thought began to creep up the back of Ace’s spine, whispering into his brain. _Reality can’t be this cruel. That’s the secret. This can’t be real because no reality could possibly have this much destruction, this much bitter ugliness in it._

Ace’s mind was strangely detached, pondering something much different than his current predicament. _The entire universe consists of Substance A. If this is true, Substance A ceases to exist. It has become indefinable and thus is void to human perception._ There were flits of movement at the edges of his vision, like something was dancing just out of sight, just out of reach. Twice he thought he heard Cheshire’s dark chuckle. Marco was looking at Ace in confusion.

 _What the hell? Why is he thinking about stuff like this now? What is he even trying to prove?_ As part of Ace’s memory, they could hear Ace’s thoughts as well, providing them with a deeper understanding of Ace’s side of the story. But this seemed so irrelevant to the moment that Marco wondered if this was something Ace was currently thinking as opposed to something he had thought in the past.

“No, this is going on in the past. And it’s influential. Pay attention, you might miss something.” Serpent’s voice was calm.

“What kind of sick bastard are you that you’re _enjoying_ this? That you _enjoyed_ raping a defenseless _child?_ ” _Introduce Substance B. Substance B is the opposite of A, and this opposition is all that defines either one of them. It is only through the existence of B and thus its opposition to A that Substance A can exist at all._ Marco could follow Ace’s logic, but he still didn’t understand why Ace was thinking this _now_ and why it was so important.

“As I said before, is it really rape when it’s consensual?” Shanks shook his head, snarl of rage on his face.

“It wasn’t consensual.” _Substance B isn’t real. Therefore, Substance A_ cannot _exist either._

“Oh wasn’t it? I never heard him protest.” Ace reached a pause in his logical deduction. He was on the precipice, the edge of something monumentally important. This was the step off the cliff, the plunge into the unknown. Ace mentally took a deep breath. _Substance B is Wonderland. Wonderland isn’t real. Therefore…_ “The _whore_ didn’t even fight back. More than 10 men in one night and not a _word_ out of him.” Hare turned his attention down to Ace. “Well, Ace? Why don’t you defend yourself? Have I lied?” Ace stepped into the unknown.

“Reality isn’t real.” He was calm. Perfectly calm. All his emotions had completely faded away. He was a being of logic right now, surpassing petty things like feelings. This was just another dream, just another Wonderland. More importantly, this was _his_ dream.

And he could manipulate it to his will.

Cheshire sat before him, a little off to his left. His grin was as wide and present as ever, flecks of blood spattered across his near-human teeth. He was meeting Ace’s eyes, and for once the manic grin seemed genuine as opposed to its sometimes more sinister appearance. “Glad you’ve finally come to your senses, Ace. Now stop thinking and _act._ It’s not hard. You’ve done it before. Just like Rabbit.” No one else could see or hear Cheshire, they weren’t part of that false reality. Ace knew this. He raised his right hand as if reaching for something.

“Just like with Rabbit.” The words were whispered more to himself than anyone else. Ace’s hand closed, seemingly around nothing, and yet reality itself seemed to bend, folding and scrunching in his hand like fabric. For one moment everything froze, time itself seeming to go still for that one moment.

Then a lurching sensation, like Ace’s core had just been jerked harshly back. The others felt it too, some doubling over or even falling. Then there was a deep, primal, undeniable feeling that something was completely and utterly _wrong_ , something so fundamentally _not right_ that the mind couldn’t even comprehend it. It swallowed nearly all other sensation and made Ace almost physically ill.

The one thing Ace still perceived through all of this was the noise.

The sound was like that of tearing fabric, but magnified. Something in Ace’s mind hated that sound, continued to deny it as not possible and unfeasible. Nonetheless, the sound penetrated into his mind, louder than any tear had the right to sound.

“What the hell is going _on?_ ” Thatch’s voice broke the stunned silence that had formed between him, Marco, and Whitebeard. All three were feeling the adverse affects of this recent development just as Ace was, but they didn’t understand it any better than any of the others present at this moment.

“Just watch. This is very important. You may learn something.” Serpent’s voice was calm and cool, perfectly collected. Thatch squinted at the scene, looking specifically at Ace’s hand. Something in his mind tried to turn away from that, and it was almost as if his eyes couldn’t accept the image he was seeing.

There was a hole in reality.

Ace had torn a hole in the fabric of existence.

There was…an indefinable color on the other side. It looked almost white, but if Thatch forced his eyes to focus on it, he could see… _things_ , things he couldn’t define, things with no shape, form, or substance racing, blurring past, shading the space with grey smudges that lasted half as long as blinking.

And Ace was sticking his arm into that space up to the elbow.

Ace’s arm didn’t come out on the other side as one might expect, but seemed to sink into this other place the farther he reached. He seemed to be searching for something, and after a moment he spoke. His face was calm, devoid of emotion.

“Handle: Aluminum-steel-chrome alloy, lightweight but strong, doesn’t have the same brittleness of steel, 8.5-centimeters long, 2.5-centimeter diameter. Blade: Same material, 21.5-centimeters long, 4 centimeters and 2 millimeters wide at its widest, 2.5 millimeters thick at its thickest, top of blade rounded, unsharpened, goes straight to point, bottom of blade tapers from widest point at base in a curve up to the point, sharp. Very sharp. Weapon type: dagger/knife. Weapon location: Wonderland. Weapon name: Vorpal Blade.” Ace’s hand closed around something, and he withdrew his hand sharply from the hole he had created.

As Ace’s arm grew closer to the entrance of the hole, Thatch could see the blurring bits of…stuff slowing as they neared Ace’s hand, each tiny piece settling within his closing palm. The pieces were tiny and appeared almost like shards of glass, each no more than a few millimeters long, but they each formed a little piece of the blade, fusing together seamlessly and taking on the shade of steely metallic grey indicated by Ace’s description. The handle formed first, perfectly matching the proportions Ace had described, then the blade, once again fitting and filling the exact measurements Ace had provided. The process of the forming blade took only a moment, no more than two seconds.

And then Ace drew out the knife.

There was a feeling like a concussive blast, like a shockwave, not physical but perceived all the same. And in that moment, Ace was no longer a being of logic. He started feeling again.

He felt hate again.

“I’m so fucking _sick_ of you!” Ace darted the knife towards himself and Hare, stabbing it into Hare’s left elbow. Hare gave a grunt of surprise and pain and his hand automatically released Ace’s throat in response to the injury. Ace didn’t stop there, drawing the knife back out and slashing at Hare’s torso. Hare dodged backwards, releasing Ace’s left arm in the process. Ace spun to fully face him and turned the knife in his hand so that the blade came out the bottom of his closed fist. Everyone in the room including Hare was staring at Ace in complete shock. More specifically at the knife in his hand, the knife that _hadn’t existed_ until a moment ago. Ace darted forward and tried to stab at Hare, the knife arching gracefully through the air. Ace hadn’t been able to practice his combat skills for the past month and a half, but the Vorpal Blade felt so natural in his hand his body moved with the ease of long honed skills. Hare stumbled back a step, barely dodging the blow. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He was too confused, too shocked to be able to effectively retaliate. Ace’s face was a snarl of fury.

“I’m fucking _sick_ of you and your god damned _sadism_ you _bastard!_ Haven’t you already done fucking _enough_ to me?!” Hare stumbled back another few steps, barely dodging Ace’s enraged assault. He finally reached the edge of the ship, the railing pressing into his back. There was nowhere left to run.

“Well I say _enough!_ I’m tired of you, I’m tired of your _bullshit_ , and I’m tired of being scared!” Ace charged forwards, throwing himself at Hare. At the last moment he leapt up in the air, higher than should be possible, but this was a dream, _Ace’s_ dream, and he could damn well do what he wanted. He raised the knife high above his head, coming down from the peak of his jump to land on Hare.

“Well the rules have changed. This is _my_ reality and you don’t have a place in it anymore!” Ace left foot was planted on Hare’s shoulder, his right on Hare’s chest. His momentum had Hare stumbling, trying to keep his balance, and drove Hare’s back flat on the railing. In the same fluid motion of his falling, Ace brought the knife down, driving it into Hare’s eye. Hare _screamed_ in pain, both in response to the abuse to his spine, which nearly broke, and because of the knife driving almost into his skull.

The pain assaulting his brain plus Ace’s bodyweight and momentum overbalanced Hare, and Ace realized that they were going to fall into the sea, the cold depths reaching up to swallow the pair of them. Ace backpedaled furiously, leaping off the falling Hare’s torso. They were at an angle now, and as Ace pulled the knife out of Hare’s eye it created a deep gash that ran over part of his cheekbone. Hare screamed again as the knife was removed, and for a moment Ace’s heart stopped.

 _“I don’t think I shall be seeing you for quite some time. So before I go, I’ll give you one last piece of advice.” Cheshire’s eyes went dark. “Aim for his eye. And don’t stop until he isn’t screaming anymore.”_ Ace watched Hare’s form falling into the sea as he leapt away from him. He wanted the moment back, wanted to drive the knife deeper because Cheshire had told him to and if Cheshire spoke directly it had to be important. Now his future was uncertain. Following Cheshire’s advice had always led him to better conclusions than if he tried to go it alone, and now he had just failed.

Ace landed on the deck of the ship, barely managing to keep from falling over. For a moment he stared down, over the side of the ship. Watched as Hare hit the water, staining the crest of a wave crimson, then sunk.

He didn’t resurface.

Ace continued to stare off the side of the ship, panting lightly, until the splash where Hare had hit the water was far behind them. Once it had faded until it was no longer distinguishable, Ace seemed to go slack. The knife fell from his limp hand, the blood-spattered point embedding itself in the floorboards. Ace felt completely drained, his mind barely even functioning anymore. The nothingness continued to spread through his mind, hazing it over with white as thought faded out of existence. He was tired, so, so tired as if his brain didn’t have the energy, the will, to continue.

Ace slumped to the deck, unconscious.

Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard were staring out at the scene, wide-eyed.  Whitebeard recovered first, crouching as close as he could to the knife embedded in the wooden floor. As soon as Ace had fallen unconscious, the hole he had torn resealed itself perfectly, no mark of it ever having been there.

The knife remained, though.

As Ace fell unconscious, the scene around Whitebeard, Marco, and Thatch faded, replaced by darkness. It happened whenever Ace fell unconscious or fell asleep. Whitebeard wasn’t really thinking about the darkness around them or wondering when Ace was going to wake up, he was more concerned with something else right now. Whitebeard was no physicist, but he remembered Ace explaining a specific point in astrophysics to him not too long ago.

 _“All matter in the universe is conserved. No matter what happens, nothing can ever be created or uncreated. The entire mass of everything that was to ever exist was created at the very beginning of the universe as hydrogen, which the stars fused for a few hundred million years, billions, even, into the heavy elements. All through that, no matter is lost. Neither is any created. It's the exact same number of protons and neutrons and electrons that were created at the beginning of the universe. They just change form, suiting their purposes in different situations, forming bonds to create new and entirely different molecules, but never is anything lost or gained.”_ Whitebeard’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. _But if that’s true…where did this knife come from?_

“Don’t try to apply logic to this. It won’t help.”

“Then explain what happened, Serpent. Where did this knife come from?” Whitebeard heard Serpent sigh.

“I’ll try, but it’s a bit of a long story. Ace and I watched this particular bit of memory _hundreds_ of times, and it took us nearly 10 years to come up with an answer.” Serpent paused. “Well…a bit less than that, but it was only a partial answer until recently.”

“What do you mean by that?” It was Marco who spoke this time. Serpent took a deep breath.

“…Do you remember that document Ace was translating from Persian when Jericho was being an asshat about 3 weeks ago?” Marco nodded. “Well, that was a very, _very_ old document. That document is why the answer is less partial now, but there’s some stuff you need to know before we get to that.” Serpent paused for a moment. “Alright…where to start…” She hesitated. “…Go back in time about 2500 years. Back then there was a powerful general that had been taught a very old, very rare technique. Others called him a monster or a demon or a sorcerer. What was important, though, was that this general was capable of creating objects with his mind.” The others were stunned into silence. “Before reading this document, Ace only had a partial answer to what exactly transpired on this day. He got this partial answer by translating the campaign journal of that general, a man by the name of Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad. Ace hadn’t been that interested in most of the journal, only the very end truly caught his eye. Altaïr was going to explain the secret of creating objects. He had been building up to it for the whole book and Ace was about to finally get an answer to exactly what happened. It was one line. One line after _years_ of wondering.

“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.” Serpent paused for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was a near snarl of rage.

“And that was it. That was _fucking it._ All those years looking for something, anything, and that was the only answer we could find.” Serpent paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. “Ace wouldn’t give up, though, and that document he was translating was an answered prayer. He told you it was Persian, but it wasn’t. It’s something much, much more ancient. In Altaïr’s writings, he continually talks about these beings he encountered, powerful beings capable of anything. He called them angels, but Ace didn’t believe it. These beings, according to Altaïr, are far, far older than humanity, the _creators_ of humanity, of all life, of everything. Altaïr claimed to have met one, to have been taught the secret of creation, and said everything anyone needed to know in order to do the same was to follow his words, to follow the words he said had been spoken to him.

“Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

“This older document that Ace was working on that day is written in…a language untranslatable for most people. The nearest thing in appearance you know to it are the characters found on the poneglyphs. Ace…made an accidental discovery early that morning. That document was never meant to be read in the way we think of reading. It would seem an intricate, impossibly complex piece of Haki had been tied to the paper. When one’s mind interacts with the piece of Haki, the document becomes legible. It’s a puzzle, though. A test. It’s like a half written sentence and you have to guess the correct ending. But it’s more three-dimensional than that. It’s an incomplete idea, a shape and a concept and a knowledge all at once. The nearest thing I can compare it to is trying to make a key for a lock. You have to map out the interior of the lock and conform the shape of the key to match it. That’s essentially what Ace had to do, but instead he had to conform his mind to the shape of this ancient bit of Haki. It took him a while and distractions forced him to completely start over again. That’s part of the reason he was so short with Jericho. The “translation” he was writing down on the other page was mostly bullshit, but he didn’t want anyone to distract him by asking him what he was doing staring at a sheet of paper for 3 hours. Ace is good enough with Haki to be able to sustain brief conversations with others while still maintaining the shape of mind he’d been working on before, but strong emotions throw off the entire process, as does something like large movement. Ace stayed so calm because he knew if he got too upset or moved, he’d have to start all over again and he was _so damnably close._ ” Serpent paused again, taking another deep breath in an attempt to not explode at the thought of how Jericho had ruined everything.

“Ace had just begun to get through, to understand what it was trying to say. When your mind is correctly interacting with the Haki, the characters become moving pictures, almost like a memory, but on a sheet of paper. The characters on the page each become their own scene, and because thought travels at the speed of light, these scenes can be really, really long because while they’re processed in an hour in “brain-time” in “real” time it’s only been an instant, maybe two. Ace had watched the first two scenes and…” Awe began to creep into Serpent’s voice. “…You wouldn’t believe the things he saw. The things that could be made possible, with the correct application of knowledge. Altaïr hadn’t been lying, there really were some kind of beings capable of creating things from nothing and you wouldn’t believe what their civilization was like. Unimaginable technology, perfected medicine…they had everything.

“And then we learned the secret. How Altaïr could create things, how _Ace_ could create things. These beings did it too. It’s a special, nearly impossible technique called Synthesis. It was all Haki. Haki and that one truth among all lies: Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Altaïr was right here too. That’s all you need to know in order to create objects. You have to completely and honestly dismiss this universe as fundamentally untrue, all the rules breakable, nothing solid fact. You heard Ace a few minutes ago. This world isn’t real to him. Or…wasn’t. I don’t know if that’s still true now. Ace hasn’t created anything since…” Serpent trailed off, hesitating. “…Well. You’ll see. But now you understand, don’t you? That knife isn’t some illusion Ace superimposed onto the minds of those around him. The law of the conservation of matter is complete bullshit. Well…for some people it is. Creating objects, though, comes at a heavy price. It takes such a gargantuan amount of Haki that only those who have a truly remarkable amount of it can actually do it without dying. The…beings in Altaïr’s journal and that old document, they were…beyond gifted. True masters. The first sentient beings. The first things to ever use Haki. They took this process a step further.

They created life.

First they started very, _very_ small, micro-flora and fauna. Plants were less complex than animals, so they were created first. After a while they mastered the creation of single-celled organisms and moved bigger. Reptiles, amphibians, birds, mammals…nothing held their interest for long. It was too easy. And they grew lonely, living in their lofty minds with nobody to really understand them except each other. So they began working towards that pinnacle of their craft, that which seemed forever out of their reach. Sentient life. Something with the same intelligence, something with a soul.” Serpent paused here.

“…And then?” Marco prompted. The story wasn’t over. There was more. What happened to these beings? Did they really create humanity? How’d they do it? Serpent’s voice came out hard. She was angry. Very, _very_ angry.

“And then Jericho spilled motherfucking _ink_ on everything.” The words were a complete _snarl_ of rage and Marco didn’t think he’d _ever_ heard that much anger, that much bitter frustration in a single sentence. He was actually a little staggered by it. _Why is she so upset about this?_

“But Ace saved the document. You can still go back and look at it later, right?”

“No. No we can’t. Ace’s mind was linked completely with the Haki that had been imbued into that document. His mind was still joined with it when Jericho threatened Luffy, and…” There was grief and hate and loss in her voice. “It broke. It was too intricate for that kind of anger, that fury Ace felt. I don’t… _blame_ him for feeling that way in response to what Jericho said, it’s just…hard to see an opportunity like that go to waste. We could have finally had our answer.” Her voice dropped, talking only to herself, but still barely audible. “I could have had my answer.” There was bitter loneliness and insecurity in her voice. Marco didn’t understand why it was there, but to hear the cat actually expressing herself like this in front of them…it was different than the snide, sarcastic face she usually presented. Serpent seemed to rise out of herself and changed the subject.

“Ace’ll be waking up soon. You’ll want to pay attention to this next bit. You’re going to learn something new.” After this she fell silent, not speaking again. Marco didn’t press her. He could tell there was something on her mind and didn’t want to upset her.

Ace opened his eyes groggily. He felt horribly lightheaded, dizzy like the whole ship was spinning. The light seemed bright, too bright even with his eyes closed, burning through his eyelids and stabbing at his brain. He squinted, barely opening his eyes, and looked around the room. He was back in the infirmary, back in his bed. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light and feeling the solidness of the bed beneath him helped with the lightheadedness that began to slowly fade.

“Are you awake yet?” Shanks’ voice drew Ace’s attention to his left. Shanks’ expression had Ace sitting up in bed despite his spinning head. Shanks was leaning his forearms on his knees, head bowed, hat shading his eyes.

“…Yes.” Ace swallowed, waiting for Shanks to speak again. Several moments of silence passed, Ace waiting to see what Shanks was about to say. One of Shanks’ hands curled into a fist and he half-scowled, a hitched breath sticking in his throat as a tear found its way down his face.

“Why, Ace?” He looked up for the first time, pained, tearful eyes meeting Ace’s own. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Ace met his eyes for a moment, shocked by the tears in Shanks’ eyes. After a moment, though, he turned his face away, swallowing hard. They knew now. Just because Hare was gone didn’t mean they’d forget about What Hare had said before Ace attacked him. Ace felt hollow. He was tired of lying. Tired of lying to a man he trusted like family. Well…used to trust. He wasn’t sure where he was with that now. _Because somewhere in you, you know, don’t you? Know that things will never_ really _go back to the way they were before. You’ll never trust him again like you did before. You’ll never rely on him completely like you did that night. Never expect him to be there to save you._ Ace hated that voice, hated what it was saying.

But he couldn’t completely deny what it said.

Ace choked back a sob at this realization and decided answering Shanks’ question would be better than continuing to talk to this voice.

“Shame? Disgust? Bitterness?” Ace spat the words. His voice faded though, going quiet, barely a whisper. “…Fear?”

“Fear of _what,_ Ace?” _Fear that if he sees you the same way Hare did, he’d do it too. Fear that if he found out, he’d see you as nothing more than the toy Hare made you into and he’d be just like them, fucking your brains out every night while you sob your life out._ _NO. Fear that_ this _would happen, that he’d be hurt like this!_ The voice only laughed.

“We’re your friends, Ace! We’re only trying to help you!” Shanks’ voice cracked. “Why didn’t you let me help you? What good did keeping all this to yourself do?” Ace met Shanks’ eyes for another moment before looking away again. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest, pressing his forehead against his kneecaps.

“I never wanted you to feel this way. You, Benn, Ricky, everyone, you all already felt guilty enough. What good would making it worse do? And…” Ace trailed off for a moment. “…I never wanted you to see me like that. To see me the way Hare did. I didn’t want you to see what he’d made me into, didn’t want you to see how absolutely _gone_ I am.” Ace’s voice was raising in volume. “It’s disgusting. _I’m_ disgusting and I didn’t want you to see that. You were all so happy I was back, and everything was perfect, everyone so happy at my oh-so-speedy recovery, and none of you _needed_ to see that part of me _died_ there, Shanks! It doesn’t help that you know now, it only makes things worse. You can’t _fix this_ , Shanks. Your knowing about it only makes you feel worse and there’s nothing either of us can do to make it better.” His voice was somewhat muffled by his position, but Shanks could still hear him.

“Avoiding the issue now doesn’t help anything, Ace. I know it must be painful for you, but we have to talk about this. You need to be open about what happened, or else you’ll never be able to leave it behind you. It’s part of _healing,_ Ace.” Shanks’ voice was dead serious. “Talking openly like you did just now, it helps. It feels like it hurts, but it’s the only thing that will help you in the long run. You don’t need to worry about protecting us. You’ve already been strong enough for far too long. Let us be there to protect _you.”_ It sounded cheesy, even to Shanks, but it was the truth. Ace raised his face slowly, turning to look at Shanks with wide eyes. He swallowed thickly.

“You really think it’ll help?”

“I do.” Ace looked down.

“I don’t…I don’t know if I can.” Shanks gently placed his hand on Ace’s shoulder and pretended not to feel like a knife had been twisted in his heart when Ace flinched.

“I know it must be hard for you, but I really think you should try.” Ace met his eyes in silence for a moment, then nodded.

“O…Okay.” Ace was silent for a moment, not sure how to begin, not sure he really wanted to. But Shanks had asked him to, Shanks said it would help, and Ace wanted to disprove that voice in his head, the one that said that he could never trust Shanks like he did before. He swallowed hard, steeling himself.

“I’d been there for almost two weeks.” Ace stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused. “It was the same day Hare broke my fingers. He…He did two things that day he’d never done before. He came back a second time in one day and he brought others with him.” Ace’s voice was monotone, devoid of inflection. “When I first saw them, I was confused. I didn’t know what they were doing there. Hare had never brought others with him before, and I saw no reason he should have brought them then. There was…” Ace shivered, unfocused eyes moving as if he could see the scene before him again. “…There was a darkness in each of them.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It scared me, but at the time I didn’t understand it.” Ace swallowed thickly.

“At that point, Hare he told me…he told me to turn over. I still didn’t know what was going on, but I wasn’t about to just give him what he wanted. I fought back, refused. He branded me, then.” A moment of quiet passed, then Ace resumed speaking. “After the first burn he again told me to roll over. I couldn’t…I couldn’t even _speak_ anymore, Shanks. I was in too much pain. But I was still strong enough to deny him. I spat on him.” Ace took a deep breath.

“He burned me again after that, longer this time. He moved the metal down my arm for what felt like an eternity. When that was finally over, he again told me to roll over.” Ace swallowed hard. “I couldn’t even _move_ at this point, Shanks. My body wouldn’t move, despite my mind screaming at it to do something.” Ace looked down, looked away. “I couldn’t fight back anymore. I couldn't even run away.” A shiver passed down his spine, the fear of that helplessness writhing in his mind. He forced himself to continue.

“Hare rolled me over once he realized I wasn’t going to fight back anymore. He used a scalpel to pin my hands to the floor, above my head. After that, he walked down behind me and I lost sight of him. I assume you can figure out what happened next. I don’t…I don’t know if Hare was the first.” A pained smile came to Ace’s face, quickly dying away. “It doesn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now. I didn’t care if it was Hare or not, it hurt just as much either way. They came to me, one after the other, and the pain only got worse. I was crying. It was the only time I ever cried in front of Hare.”

Shanks’ head was bowed, his hat shading his eyes. It hurt to hear this, to hear what Ace had gone through. There was one last piece of information, one last knife to the heart that Shanks needed, though.

“How many were there, Ace?” His voice was quiet and he forced it not to crack. There were tears in his eyes, but he shoved them back, not allowing them to fall. Ace looked at Shanks, then looked away, shame coursing through him.

“I…I don’t know how many total, but that first night…” He paused for a moment, clenching his jaw. His eyes closed. “There were twelve.”

 _Twelve? My God…how could I have let this happen? What kind of failure am I that I let him go through this?_ Shanks reached out, meaning to comfort Ace.

“Ace-“ Ace pulled away, not meeting Shanks’ eyes.

“If you don’t mind, captain, I’d like…I’d like some time alone.” Ace’s voice was quiet. Shanks could hear the pain in his voice and knew he’d pushed Ace far enough for one day. He swallowed and nodded.

“Okay.” He stood and walked to the door. Ace didn’t speak, while he moved. His head was bowed, hair shading his eyes.

Shanks reached the door and opened it. He was about to go through, out into the hallway, when Ace’s voice, quiet and broken, stopped him.

“Shanks, what…” He swallowed thickly. “What Hare said, I-“ Shanks’ eyes widened. _Oh God. He’s managed to hurt Ace even after he’s dead._ Shanks crossed the room in an instant and knelt by Ace’s bedside. He took both of Ace’s hands in his own, holding them gently. He looked seriously at Ace’s face, but Ace refused to meet his eyes.

“Listen to me, Ace. Look at me.” He squeezed Ace’s hands gently. Of all the things he’d said today, this was obviously the most important and he needed to make sure his words really got across to Ace. “You’re not a slut, and you’re not a whore. Those men did something horrible to you. You weren’t given any choice. What happened to you should never happen to anyone, and the men that did it are less than _animals_. It’s their fault. They’re the ones that should be feeling like this, not you.” Ace had clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut.

“If it’s their fault, then why do I feel _guilty?_ ” His voice was hard, full of hurt. “I didn’t fight back, Shanks.”

“Yes you did. You suffered more than anyone should ever have to. It’s not your fault that Hare had hurt you too much for you to fight back. It’s not like you chose for that to happen. You didn’t submit to them, you didn’t “let” them do anything.” Shanks’ voice was serious and direct. “Ace, _look_ at me.” Ace opened his eyes slowly and looked at the captain. Shanks could see the pain in his eyes, the solitude and insecurity.

“What those men did was horrible and absolutely _none_ of it was your fault. Don’t ever blame yourself for what happened. They deserve a fate worse than death for what they did to you. You didn’t choose any of what happened and you fought back and fought harder than anyone could have ever asked you to. Hare lied. You’re not a slut, you’re not a whore, you didn’t break, and you’re never, _never_ going to have to go through something like that again. I know I didn’t do such a great job of keeping my last promise to you, but I swear to you I will fight with everything I have, I’d give my _life_ to ensure you never have to go through something like that ever again.” Ace stared at Shanks for another moment, then looked down.

“I…I don’t want to feel like this anymore, Shanks. I want to get better.”

“And you’re absolutely going to. Nobody said this was going to be easy, Ace. But it’s okay. I understand that this is hard for-“ Something in Ace snapped at that word. He threw Shanks’ hands away and turned to look at the captain. His eyes were hard and angry, his look practically a glare. His words were a snarl.

“ _Understand?!_ What could you _possibly_ understand, Shanks?” Ace’s voice contained the same anger, his voice slightly raised. “You _don’t_ understand. Do you have any idea what it felt like? What it still feels like? I was so _alone,_ Shanks. I was bleeding and broken and scared, yes, I was _terrified,_ of them, of what they were going to do, of what they _did do,_ and I had to face that alone. There was nobody left I could turn to. Nobody saved me. There was no all-loving God, no pirate captain best friend, _no one_.” There were tears in Ace’s eyes and he tried to blink them angrily away. His voice continued to rise, his anger gaining momentum. “You have no _idea_ what this feels like. I feel _dead_ , Shanks. _Inhuman._ A toy. A doll. That’s what they made me and that’s what I became. I _hate_ myself!” Ace’s last outburst faded away. A sob choked its way out of his chest, and another followed. There were tears on his face and he made no attempt to hide them. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Understand? You don’t understand this, Shanks. You can’t. You never will. And you should be _damn_ glad of that.”

Shanks was staring at Ace with wide eyes. Ace’s outburst surprised him, and what he said hurt like a punch to the gut. He felt sorrow too, and guilt. Always guilt. He stared at Ace for a moment and Ace semi-glared back, tears staining his face.

Shanks leaned forward in one fluid movement, not so fast as to startle Ace, but too quick for him to react.

His embrace was gentle, loose enough not to panic Ace. When Shanks wrapped his arms around him, Ace automatically stiffened. He was surprised, his eyes wide with shock. He’d expected Shanks to be angry after his outburst, to be upset with Ace for Ace’s partially blaming him for what happened. He’d expected him to yell or to storm out of the room. He hadn’t expected this, not at all. He felt a tiny pinprick of wetness on his shoulder, soon joined by another. He blinked, surprised yet again. _Is Shanks…crying?_

“I’m so happy.” Shanks was smiling, his voice shaking with his tears. He let them fall freely from his eyes, not bothering to try and hold them back. He brought Ace a little closer. “I’m just so happy. You’ve finally, _finally_ let me in.” Ace’s eyes widened with surprise. Shanks continued, smile still on his face. “You’re angry and upset and sad and that’s okay. It’s okay that you’re mad, even at me. I’m just…so happy that you finally told me that, finally let yourself be mad and upset and sad in front of me.” He squeezed Ace gently. “…I’m just glad to have one of my best friends back.” Shanks could feel Ace trembling in his arms, could hear his ragged, uneven breathing. Ace gave another choked sob, then buried his face in Shanks’ shoulder, wrapping his arms around the captain, clutching to him like his life depended on it.

Ace wept in earnest then. All the pain, all the bitter solitude, all the anger and sadness and grief and disgust and self-loathing finally exploded. He’d been wearing masks for so long, hiding behind stupid lies and fake smiles for such a long time…and now he didn’t need to. Shanks had broken through his masks, peeled back all the times Ace had told himself it was better not to share, not to burden anyone else, that no one else would care enough to listen and gotten to the scared, lonely, lost child beneath. Not only had he seen all of Ace’s weaknesses and faults and ugliness, but accepted them. _Wanted_ to see them. Called them best friend. Called the pathetic, miserable _wretch_ Ace felt he had become friend.

Shanks held him while he cried, speaking soft, soothing things. Ace didn’t know how long they remained there, knew only that Shanks was warm, his arms solid about Ace’s smaller frame, that he didn’t pull away.

Once his tears finally ran out, Shanks held him for a few moments longer, then gently released him, pulling back and meeting his eyes. Ace took a moment to wipe the tears off his face.

“I…” He swallowed hard and a tiny, genuine smile came to his face. “Thank you.” Shanks smiled back at him.

“Anytime.” Ace began to laugh at himself then, at his no doubt red and puffy eyes, wiping at them again.

“Look at me. I’m a mess.” Shanks only smiled at him and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” A moment of silence passed.

“It’s hard to believe he’s really gone.” Ace’s voice was quiet, yet Shanks could hear an edge of doubt to it. He sighed quietly.

“Nobody could have survived that, Ace. Even if he didn’t bleed to death, he’d never be able to swim to any land from way out here. He’s probably been chowed by a Sea King by now.” A tiny pause. “The point is, Hare’s dead, Ace. You’re safe. He’ll never come for you again.” Ace looked into Shanks’ eyes, into the complete resolve there. After a moment, he nodded.

“You’re right.” Shanks smiled at him and decided it was time to ask about something else.

“Ace, about that…how exactly did you do it? Where did that knife come from?” Ace met his eyes and shook his head.

“I honestly don’t know.” Shanks seemed to consider this, then shrugged. He reached back behind his chair, grabbing something he’d placed out of sight.

“Well, in any case, this is yours.” Shanks turned back around and handed the object off to Ace.

They’d found a sheath that at least somewhat matched the size and shape of the blade, and the Vorpal Blade felt just as comfortable and perfect in his hand as it ever had. Ace accepted it and looked down at the knife. It really was exactly the knife that he’d created in Wonderland. He could even see some of Rabbit’s blood, darker crimson than human blood, still stuck in the swirling engraving near the hilt.

Some of Hare’s blood was still on the knife too.

The blade was clean, but it was nigh impossible to get dried blood out of those minute etchings near the hilt. Ace studied the knife for a few minutes longer, only turning to look as he heard Shanks stand.

“Well, I think it’s time to get some well-earned rest. There’s been more than enough emotional trauma for one day, and I think we could all use a break.” Shanks turned and began walking for the door. He reached it and turned one last time to address Ace. “Goodnight, Ace.” Ace smiled back at him.

“Goodnight, captain.” Shanks left then, shutting the door softly behind him.

Ace studied the knife for another moment, then placed it on a table near his bed. He’d worry about that later. Ace began settling himself down in the blankets, getting comfortable. There was a peaceful smile on his face, something that hadn’t been seen for almost two months.

“Isn’t it nice when your friends lie to you? It just makes one feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” That had Ace sitting up again, looking around the room for the source of the voice. He found his intended target and his eyes hardened.

“Cheshire.” The grinning cat was sitting about halfway across the room from Ace. “What the hell do you mean by that? How dare you talk about Shanks like that!” Cheshire shrugged.

“I’m not the one that’s partially lying to you, the one that’s doubting you. Don’t get mad at _me._ ” Cheshire stood and strode closer, sitting next to Ace’s bed. “You know he doesn’t fully believe you. You could see it in his eyes too. He doubts you. It may only be a part of him, but he’ll never fully believe your story. He doesn’t understand you, he doesn’t understand Wonderland, he doesn’t understand what you’ve been through. Why bother trying to explain any of it to him? He’ll never understand. Never. You need a different companion. You need someone who _does_ understand you, who doesn’t judge you for what you’ve been through, for what you’ve lost, for what you’ve suffered. You need someone who doesn’t judge you for what you’ve created. Shanks isn’t and can never be that person.” Ace glared at him.

“Shut up. You’re lying.” Cheshire arched an eyebrow.

“Am I? It’s so hard to tell these days. You’ve become more proficient at deceiving yourself and others than I would have ever expected.” Cheshire began to disappear then, fading away as he always did. “But I don’t believe I’m the one that’s lying, Ace. Deluding yourself about something doesn’t make it the truth. Be realistic.” Cheshire continued fading, only his eyes and grin left. “I thought you might like some company of a different variety, but if Shanks is really the perfect, flawless companion for you I won’t interfere.”

“Cheshire wait.” Ace was staring at the bed sheets in front of him. Cheshire stopped his disappearing and reappeared his head.

“Yes?”

“Does Shanks…does he really not believe me?”

“Only he can know that. But you let Mr. Savage scare him too much, I think. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he completely trusts you anymore. But that’s a mutual thing, isn’t it? You don’t trust him like you used to either.” Ace jerked his head to the side, sharp rebuttal on his tongue, and was met with Cheshire’s cold blue stare. The words died on his tongue. He swallowed and forced himself to try to say them, but they tasted like a lie in his mouth. Ace bowed his head.

“…You’re right.”

“You need a companion who isn’t afraid of you, Ace. Someone who doesn’t pity you either.” Ace looked up, into Cheshire’s grinning face.

“I know what it is that you want.” Cheshire raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side.

“Oh?”

“I don’t…I don’t know if I can or should give it to you, though.”

“You’ve done it before. It’s not like we’re treading on new ground here. It’d be mutually beneficial. I don’t see why you’re hesitating. I can be there for you in a way Shanks can’t. How many times have you secretly wished for my advice, asked yourself what I would say in certain situations in order to get through them? I bet it’s more than you would care to admit. I’m part of your mind. I’d be the perfect companion for you. I could never betray you or turn away from you because I am a part of you. I _understand you_ , Ace. Understand you like nobody else can. I’ve been your only real friend in Wonderland as well, the only one who didn’t try to kill you for that stupid key. You can trust me. I can trust you. We understand one another. Isn’t that what you need? Someone you can undoubtedly trust right now?” Ace considered it. Weighed the pros and cons.

“…You’re…you’re right. I don’t know how to do this, though. It was miracle enough the first time.”

“Just imagine me, Ace. Imagine me exactly as I am. Everything about me, everything you know and everything I am. Imagine what I look like and what I think like. Imagine how I act and how I feel. You know me. You know all of this. So do it. It won’t be hard.” Ace’s eyes drifted softly closed. He began thinking. Thinking about everything he’d ever known about Cheshire. The sarcasm, the knowledge, the vague hints he gave, the disregard of everything he didn’t care about, his grey fur, thin body, large head, his grin, his tail, everything.

Ace didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know how to do this, but he felt some kind of progress was being made. His mind was feeling that same drain of energy it had before after he created the Vorpal Blade. It was working. It was really working.

And then, of course, things started to go wrong.

Ace felt the blankness that ate away at his will change. It expanded in one great leap, overtaking a large area of his mind. Instead of just covering over it like it had when he made the Vorpal Blade, though, it pulled this piece away, separating it from the rest of Ace’s mind. His energy was leaving him fast now too. He felt he was about to collapse from exhaustion, to pass out or die. He couldn’t sustain this any longer, didn’t have enough willpower to do it. He couldn’t do this, he wasn’t strong enough.

Ace cut off the Haki where it was.

He was left panting, gasping, and was glad he was already lying down or else he would have surely fallen over. He brought up a shaking hand and pressed it to his face.

“I can’t do it, Cheshire, I’m sorry.” A pause. “…Cheshire…?”

“You tried.” A pause. “You failed.”

Ace knew Cheshire had left again.

Ace took a deep breath, squashing his disappointment in himself. He gave himself a few moments to catch his breath, waiting for the mental fatigue to subside. It did, slowly. As it pulled back, Ace could begin to think again.

Except it didn’t completely pull back this time.

The part of his mind that it had swallowed stayed somehow separate. Ace could access that part of his mind and it didn’t feel fatigued, but it was somehow different from the rest of him. He explored the area mentally, trying to deduce its purpose.

 _Hello out there._ Ace just about jumped out of his skin. It was as if Caterpillar had talked to him, but different. This voice was clear in his mind, as natural as breathing.

It came from the cut off place in his mind.

_…Hello…?_

_And I say hello again._

_Who are you?_

_…I don’t know._

_Why are you here?_

_I don’t know that either. You created me, don’t you know?_

_What are you?_

_Open your eyes and find out._ Ace obeyed, opening his eyes slowly. He blanched in shock.

A small black cat was curled on his lap in a near perfect ball, large green feline eyes staring up at him.

_A cat?_

_Well you were trying to make Cheshire, weren’t you?_

_Yes…_

_So you didn’t get all the way there. I’m the end result. You didn’t make a complete Cheshire. I’m as close as you could get._

_…What’s your name?_ The cat seemed to consider this, green eyes narrowing for a moment.

 _I’m not sure. I think you have to name me._ Ace blinked, then smiled.

_You have your own mind. Name yourself._

_I don’t have my own mind. The best I could do was steal a piece of yours. Sorry-_

_Don’t. That’s not your fault. It’s mine. That mind is yours now._ He could tell the cat was still upset about it. _What’s the matter? Why are you so upset? It’s not like you chose this…_

 _Well…What am I, really? I’m not my own being but I’m not part of you. How was I created? Why? What purpose can I possibly serve in this life if all I am is your failed attempt to make something else?_ Ace smiled down at the cat and stroked its fur gently.

 _Don’t say that. It’s okay if you don’t know what your purpose in life is yet, I mean, you were only made a minute ago! You want a goal right now? Name yourself. And let me pet you. Your fur is very soft…_ The cat chuckled at this.

 _Well thanks for that._ It purred softly. _It does feel rather nice…_ The cat opened its eyes and looked around the infirmary, catching on the objects on Ace’s nightstand.

 _A knife, a sketchbook, and a copy of Paradise Lost? You seem to have strange hobbies. _The cat’s eyes remained fixed on the book. _…But I think that book has given me inspiration for my name._ The cat presented it quietly and Ace examined it.

_…That’s being a bit hard on yourself, isn’t it?_

_Nonsense. It’s the truth. I shouldn’t try to avoid it._ The cat chuckled again. _It’s meaningful and perfect and ironic. I like it. That is what you should call me from now on._

_I still think you’re being too harsh._

_I am your first failure. It’s fitting. I was your fall from perfection, wasn’t I?_

_I wouldn’t call myself perfect by any stretch of the imagination._

_But I was your first failure at using your mind to manipulate the world, was I not? So it’s perfect. I destroyed your perfection. So that is what you are to call me._ Ace stroked the cat in silence for a while.

“I don’t altogether approve of it, but I said I’d let you choose your own name. I’ll introduce you to the crew tomorrow. We’re going to have to come up with some clever lies to explain you.”

_We could tell the truth, you know._

“Theoretically yes. But I don’t want everyone freaking out. But that’s for tomorrow. For now, go to sleep.”

 _Goodnight, Ace._ Ace’s mind was already half asleep.

“Goodnight Serpent.”


	33. Chapter 33

Thatch stared straight ahead in stunned silence. Ace was asleep and hadn’t yet begun to dream, and darkness surrounded him, Whitebeard, and Marco.

“Well?” Serpent’s voice was snide. “What do you think? Finally got your answers? Finally understand how I know so much, how I speak, how I understand Wonderland?” There was bitterness in her voice.

“How…How did he make you? Why are your minds linked like that? Why don’t you have your own mind?” Serpent snorted.

“I’ve been asking myself those questions for 10 years. Because what _am_ I? I’m just a body part of Ace’s mind was forced to assume. I don’t have my own soul, I don’t have my own mind, and I don’t _deserve_ to be alive. Ace should have his full mind. It’s not fair to him that I’ve taken part of it. He insisted that it was okay, that he didn’t mind sharing, but the facts still stand. I _shouldn’t_ exist and there’s no point in me existing! I don’t have a purpose! I’m not the Cheshire Ace tried to create! I’ve tried to fill that role, to be companion to Ace as Ace hoped Cheshire would be, but _I’m not what he really wanted._ I’m useless, _pointless_. I shouldn’t exist!”

“Nonsense.” Whitebeard’s voice was firm. Serpent froze, mid-rant. Whitebeard’s voice commanded attention, and it was hard to disobey. _It’s interesting…they really are similar._ Whitebeard remembered when Ace had told him the truth of his lineage. He’d spoken similar words, claiming he shouldn’t be alive. Whitebeard had spoken to him then, and knew he’d have to say something similar to Serpent now. “Don’t you think it’s possible that what one wants and what one needs are different things entirely? You may not have been the companion Ace originally wanted, but you’ve been there for him exactly as he needed you to be. He cares deeply about you, and not just because you’re part of his mind. You claim not to have your own mind, but comparing you to Ace there _are_ differences. You are you. You have a purpose in this life because _everyone_ has a purpose in this life, whether or not you can always see it.” Whitebeard’s voice went soft. “I can tell you how to find your purpose if you feel you can’t see it now. It’s a simple process.” Whitebeard waited for some kind of assent from Serpent. After a moment of silence he continued.

“Look inside yourself. Find what you love and what brings you the greatest joy. Right next to that place inside you, you’ll find a space that needs filling. That needs completion. _That_ is your purpose. To find your missing piece. Mine was building this family. Marco’s was finding somewhere he could completely belong. Thatch hasn’t found his yet, but he’s working on it. Do you want to know what I think your purpose is?” Serpent’s breathing was uneven, and if cats could cry, Whitebeard was almost certain that’s what she was doing.

“You are a healer. And a caretaker. And a friend. Your purpose is to protect, to love, and to guide those around you. You gain happiness from giving it to others, from seeing others achieve their purposes.” A smile found its way onto his face. “You and I aren’t so different there.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright, Ace, let’s get started.” Ace turned his head to look at Ricky. He was lying on his back on one of the infirmary cots, Ricky standing near his desk, back towards him. He was pulling a pair of surgical gloves over his hands, and after pulling the second one tight allowed it to jerk back in its place about his wrist with an elastic snap. “We’re going to take off the bandaging on your arms and chest today to check how well you’re healing and to make sure you haven’t gotten an infection.”

“Okay.” Ace lay in silence for a moment. “Will it hurt doctor?” Ricky seemed to pause for a moment, as if considering the question.

“Well…it may be time to take out some of the stitches, in which case that may be painful. I promise it’s not my intention to hurt you, Ace.” Ace swallowed and nodded. _But what if that’s not really-_ Ace shook his head violently. _No. Stop it. That’s Ricky. Mr. Savage can’t pretend to be him anymore because I_ refuse _to be afraid of someone I should trust anymore._

“Alright Ace, I need you to roll over for a moment.” Ace started, coming out of his mental reverie. He looked down at himself and saw the bandaging on his chest and arms had been cut neatly, one straight line running down his chest and another down each arm. He looked up and over. Ricky was standing next to his desk, back to Ace. He seemed to be looking down at something on the desk, maybe some papers or something.

If Ace didn’t know better he would have said Ricky hadn’t moved at all.

“…Doctor?” Ricky lifted his head a bit and cocked it gently to the left, back still completely to Ace leaving Ace unable to see his face.

“Is something the matter?” Ace swallowed and forced himself to relax. _Trust him. You can trust him. He’s on your side, he’s trying to_ help _you._ Ace felt the tension begin to abate. This was normal. He was okay. Ricky’s trying to help and he’s just being paranoid, as usual. Why had he been freaked out? Everything here was exactly as it always had been, as it always would be.

“No. I just…” Ace shook his head. _I’m being ridiculous._ “Nothing.”

He hesitated a moment, then grit his teeth. _I have to do this. I have to_ overcome _this._ Ace forced himself to roll over, turning his head to the right so he could still see the room. His hands were clenched into fists, fingernails biting into his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the memories clogging his brain.

 “Make it quick, Doctor. I don’t…I don’t exactly have fond memories of this position.”

He heard Ricky’s footsteps coming towards him, slow and even. Normal.

“The maintenance shouldn’t take long, don’t you fret.” He could tell Ricky was smiling, even if he couldn’t see it. “We want to get you back in working order again as soon as possible, right?” Ace felt a smile come to his face. This was all exactly as it should be. He nodded and made a sound of assent.

He felt the bandages being pulled away, the smoothness of the fabric dragged gently across his skin as Ricky removed the binding. Cool air hit his skin, a foreign and forgotten sensation. He heard the fabric rustle slightly as it fell to the floor.

Ricky’s fingers wrapped gently around Ace’s arm, up near the shoulder. His fingers were cool and steady, his grip solid but not confining. He pulled gently on Ace’s arm, not hard enough for the pressure to be anywhere near painful. After a moment, the pressure faded and Ace could hear Ricky’s footsteps moving across the room again at that even, normal pace.

“You can roll back over now, if you like.” Ricky’s voice was almost…dismissive. Disinterested. Ace nodded and did so, turning his head to look over at Ricky’s still retreating back. A smile found its way to his face. _Ricky’s going to fix my arm now._

Ace’s eyes focused on the appendage, loosely dangling from Ricky’s grasp.

It was normal. This was how it was supposed to be. Ricky had to detach the arm to fix it. Ace’s eyes moved down to his shoulder.

His shoulder wasn’t bleeding, nor should it have been. Rather, there was a socket there, like that of a doll. Ace looked over at his other shoulder and saw where his arm joined his torso in the same way, attached by a simple, static socket. A doll’s socket. Moving downward Ace could see his elbow was also like that of a doll, jointed for free, almost-natural movement. His wrist and fingers were the same.

Ace looked back over to Ricky, who had returned to his desk, disassembling his arm. His back was still to Ace and most of his body blocked Ace’s view of what he was doing, but he already knew so it didn’t really matter. Ricky was using spare parts they had found around the ship to rebuild Ace’s arm the way it should be, the way it was meant to be.

Because Ace was cracked. Flawed. And nobody wants a broken doll.

Of course, Ace could never be perfect again. Once broken once there’s no such thing as perfection. Ace would always be flawed. Cracked. A tiny smile came to Ace’s face.

But there’s no need for the world to know that.

“Are you almost finished, Doctor?” Ricky didn’t reply for a moment, then straightened.

“Yes. Almost finished.” A pause. “…You know, Ace, we’ve been fixing _you_ this whole time, don’t you think it’s time for you to give back?” Ricky dropped the arm and it fell back to the table with an inanimate thud.

“What do you mean, Doctor? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes…Yes there is. You’d do anything to help me, right Ace? Because we’re _friends._ ”

“Of course! You’ve been so helpful to me, why shouldn’t I do the same in return?”

“Exactly. That’s a fair trade, isn’t it? But…you’ve _stolen_ something, Ace.” Ricky began to turn his head. “It’s time to pay up for what you took.” Ace’s eyes widened in horror and Ricky’s almost-face twisted into a grin. “It’s only _fair,_ right _Ace?_ ” His head jerked sharply to the side accompanied by the sound of snapping bones. “Huh?”

His skin hung from his face, pale and unhealthy, white to the point of death. His mouth was folded into a grin so broad his gums were visible all about his teeth. His glasses had been broken, shards of the left lens protruding from high on his cheekbone and eyebrow. The eye itself was unharmed, but widened immensely, a ring of white around the iris.

His other eye was gone.

A black hole occupied the place his right eye should have been, the skin around it sagging slightly. It remained wide, almost perfectly round. It seemed to stretch back through his skull and on forever.

“I want it back, Ace. And you said you’d give it to me. Because I’m your _friend_ , Ace.” He made an attempt to straighten his neck, but it wouldn’t go completely upright again, hanging instead in a disturbing, unsettling tilt.

He began walking towards Ace.

Ace automatically tried to move back, but found himself unable to move.  It was as if his body _couldn’t_ move, wasn’t supposed to. Ricky’s face grinned at him from its lopsided place atop his neck.

“Now now, Ace. Dolls don’t fight back, remember?” Ricky drew up next to the bed and grinned down at the frozen Ace. Ace stared back up at him with wide, scared eyes. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight back. He couldn’t run.

He was helpless.

“You’ve made me upset _and_ done some damage. Time for you to repay what you took.” A black sludge somewhere between mud and blood began oozing out of his eye socket. It moved down his face in slow motion, almost like a tear. “I want it back, Ace. I want what’s mine.” His left hand came up then, reaching towards Ace’s face. Ace was mentally _screaming_ at his body to do something, anything.

Ricky’s fingers were as cold as the depths of the sea as they settled on his face. Ace tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but the prying, icy fingers pulled his eyelids wide.

His right hand came into Ace’s line of vision, moving towards the wide, opened right eye. His hand paused about halfway there, and his eye turned to look right into Ace’s.

“The worms are coming. The worms are coming for _you._ ” The black sludge from the empty eye socket changed, then. It began congealing into lumps. It was then that the first one appeared.

Small, black, and perfectly round, a perfect cylinder. Featureless. It squirmed and writhed inside and then from the black, never-ending pit that was the eye socket. More followed, ever increasing in number. Each was no longer than four inches long.

“Do you see what you’ve done, Ace? How does it feel to be confronted with your sin?” His hand began moving again, closing in on Ace’s eye. Ace could do nothing but stare in horror at the hand, at the face, at what he knew was coming…

…But mostly at the worms.

They seemed to occupy more of his vision than they should have and he couldn’t turn his eyes away from them. They protruded from Ricky’s eye socket, groping around, brushing against his eyebrow and cheekbone, some sliding down the sluggish trail of black ooze running down his face. They were shiny and looked wet and Ace couldn’t help but remember how it had felt when, for a moment, he’d imagined himself in Sabo’s place at the bottom of the sea, worms crawling through his brain, eating away at his humanity.

Ricky’s hand began to obscure his vision, coming between his right eye and the worms. Ace’s eyes turned to focus on that instead, and he tried to struggle, told himself to pull away, but found himself unable to do so.

Ricky’s hand reached his right eye.

“Time to pay back in full, Ace.” Ricky’s grinning face leaned over him, gobs of the black ooze falling onto the bed sheets and Ace’s skin. It was cold and sludgy and repulsive and when he came into contact with it he felt sick.

Ricky forced his first finger under Ace’s upper eyelid.

Ace tried to scream, instinct trying to raise the noise out of him from the pain, but couldn’t. It was as impossible to him as movement had been, felt as though he wasn’t made to produce that noise, like he physically couldn’t.

Ricky grinned down at him. “Now now, Ace. Dolls certainly aren’t allowed to scream.” His second finger forced itself under his eyelid and again Ace tried to scream. The only sound to make it through, though, was a choked, pathetic whimper.

Ricky’s thumb was next, forcing itself under his lower eyelid and shoving back into his head. Ace could feel the blood beginning to run down his face, his body screaming at him to save it, to run away, anything to escape this because those fingers certainly didn’t belong in his eye socket, shouldn’t be forcing their way agonizingly back behind his eye, pulling at it, moving it from its natural place.

Ace couldn’t describe the pain he was in. it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, unlike anything even Hare had put him through. The nearest level of pain he could compare it to was having his broken hand crushed under Hare’s full bodyweight. It was blinding and all-encompassing and left no place for Ace to possibly flee to escape it.

Ace’s eye came out of his head with a sickening pop.

A ragged cry was finally able to tear itself out of his throat, though that too pained him and felt unnatural. He could feel blood pouring down his face, hot and wet. He could barely breathe through the shock and pain. He could feel he was trembling lightly, tiny, pained noises coming from his throat with every gasped breath. Half his world had gone dark, everything to the right of his nose being completely void to him.

He was still incapable of voluntary movement and could only watch as Ricky’s hand retracted, coming into Ace’s field of vision. His fingers were stained with Ace’s blood and between his thumb and first two fingers he held a small, blood-covered orb. Ace felt his heart stop in his chest.

_That’s my eye._

Ricky, apparently feeling Ace’s gaze, looked down at Ace’s one remaining wide, terrified eye. He grinned hugely and lifted the eye towards his own face. With another sickening pop he forced it into his own eye socket. As he did, the black sludge and worms were forced out, falling on the bed and Ace’s chest in congealed lumps. Ricky blinked several times and as Ace watched his eye seemed to become part of Ricky, loosing its cloudy lifelessness.

Ace could feel the worms crawling on his torso and left arm. They moved quickly, and seemed almost…eager. Like they were heading towards something they desperately wanted. They were cold and slimy and Ace felt his stomach turn as they moved across his skin. Ricky was staring down at him, at the worms, watching them move on Ace’s body, all heading towards his face. The first wave had reached Ace’s neck. Ricky threw back his head and laughed.

“They’re yours now, Ace.” Ace forced himself to talk through the pain and the disgust and the blood loss.

“I…I killed you! You can’t be here anymore!” Ricky hmmed thoughtfully.

“You know…I don’t feel very killed, Ace. Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily? Were you really so proud as to believe you could kill fear itself? It takes more than a knife. Just because you think Hare’s gone doesn’t mean you’re not afraid anymore, Ace. You can’t kill fear. You can’t kill me.” The worms were crawling up Ace’s face now, their cold, slimy lengths sliding along his skin.

Ricky turned to leave. Well, his body did. His head remained in its former position, staring at Ace, wide grin firmly in place. “Well I must be going. A shared acquaintance of ours is running late, so I do believe I’ll expedite his journey.” He reached up and spun his head around so it faced forwards. As he walked his appearance began to change. His clothes altered, the medical coat quickly morphing into something else and changing color. He grew taller as well.

“Wait!” Mr. Savage paused where he was. He cocked his head slightly to the side, indicating he was listening. “Who are you? You’ve always appeared as Ricky or Hare or Shanks, but _who are you?”_

“Oh dear, asking that question already? But it’s not time for that answer yet, I’m still preparing our playing field.” He smiled. “You’ll know soon enough. The players are almost all in their positions.” He began walking away again. Ace could still feel the cold, black worms writhing around on his face. They seemed interested in his blood and followed the trail of it up to Ace’s eye socket. The first few slipped inside and instantly began burrowing into his skull. Ace barely managed now to scream.

“You’d better start getting ready, creator dear.” Mr. Savage turned to grin at him one last time. “The second Caucus Race is about to begin.”

All Ace could see were the worms.

* * *

 

“Please please _please_ wake up!” It was a female voice. She sounded desperate, terrified. Shanks distantly felt an insistent kneading on his chest. He came awake slowly, groaning as he sat up. “Oh thank _God._ ” Shanks rubbed his face and looked down at the person who’d had the nerve to wake him up at some incredibly ungodly hour.

Suffice to say he did not expect to see a black, green-eyed cat.

“I need you to come with me right now!” Shanks, still half awake, blinked at the cat, which seemed to be…talking? He vaguely wondered if he was still sleeping.

“What the hell’re yo-“

“No time for that now! Please, I need you to come with me!” The cat leapt off the bed and sprinted to the door, turning back to look at him. “Hurry! I don’t know how much longer Ace is going to last!”

That got Shanks attention.

He was standing in a heartbeat and approached the cat, lifting it from the floor. “What did you just say?” The cat seemed to be growing more distraught by the moment.

“I said ACE NEEDS YOU SO YOU GET YOUR ASS IN GEAR NOW!” The cat, if it had been a person, probably would have been in tears at this point and certainly sounded like it. “Mr. Savage has him trapped and I can’t wake him up! Please, help him!” She sounded desperate and terrified and Shanks knew she couldn’t be faking it. Albeit he still didn’t exactly know who or what she was, but she was being sincere.

Which meant Ace needed his help. Desperately.

“Lead the way.” Shanks’ voice was serious. He dropped the cat, who landed firmly on the ground. She instantly began sprinting down the hallway, and Shanks did his best to keep pace with her.

They wound down hallway after hallway and Serpent’s desperation had begun to invade Shanks’ mind as well. Was Ace okay? The cat had talked about Mr. Savage. That must mean it wasn’t any kind of physical danger Ace was in. Ricky had explained that all of the inhabitants of Wonderland including Mr. Savage were embodiments of different pieces of Ace’s mind. Ace’s mind couldn’t physically attack him, so that meant he was having some kind of mental breakdown. Shanks wasn’t altogether sure he knew how to properly deal with something like that, but hell if he was going to leave Ace alone when he needed help. When they finally came to a stop outside the infirmary, Shanks didn’t hesitate to throw the door wide.

What he saw froze his heart in his chest.

Ace was sitting up in bed, eyes wide and clouded. His spine was as straight and stiff as a board. He stared straight ahead sightlessly, seemingly seeing something besides the wall in front of him.

Ace’s mouth was open in a silent scream.

Shanks crossed the room in an instant, paying no mind to the cat, who crossed the room just as quickly. He sat down on Ace’s bed, reaching out to gently grab his shoulders.

“Ace! Ace can you hear me?” Ace made no response at all, neither flinching like he normally did whenever somebody touched him or responding to his words.

Ace’s skin was cold as ice.

“Ace! Wake up!” He shook him gently, but again Ace made no response. Shanks looked to the cat, alarmed. “What do we do?”

“The hell if I know!” Shanks rubbed Ace’s arms, trying to warm him up even a little bit.

“He’s too cold…” Shanks reached out, scooping Ace up in his arms. He grabbed the blanket along with him, wrapping Ace almost completely in it. He held Ace close to his chest, trying to warm him with his own body heat. Ace still made no response and Shanks began to grow truly desperate. He looked around the room, searching for something, anything that could be of use or tell him what to do. His eyes halted on the object occupying the corner of the room.

He would have sworn that mirror had been smashed the last time he’d been in here.

After they’d found it shattered, Ace had admitted to breaking it. Claimed he “didn’t like what he saw there.” He’d offered to clean up, saying it was his responsibility since he broke it, but Ricky hadn’t let him.

They’d been careful to keep sharp objects away from Ace ever since a certain _incident_.

Yet here the mirror stood. Perfect. Flawless. Except for one detail, something that chilled Shanks to the core.

It wasn’t reflecting this room.

The image most assuredly wasn’t a reflection of the infirmary, the glass showing something entirely different than what was going on in the room.

The mirror contained an image of Ace.

Shanks stared at it in utter horror.

The image looked almost perfectly identical to the Ace in his arms. Completely identical, even, except for the clothes and one other key difference.

The mirror Ace was missing his right eye.

Blood pumped down his face freely from the injury, like it had only just happened. Along with blood, there was some kind of dark, sludgy liquid pulsing out as well. It mixed with the blood and formed a repulsive, semi-congealed fluid that trailed down his face like tears.

Black worms writhed and squirmed in the eye socket, some occasionally protruding out and experimentally poking around the skin on Ace’s cheekbone and eyebrow.

“A-Ace?”

“A part of him, yes.” Shanks glanced between the mirror image and the Ace in his arms. He swallowed.

“What happened to you? Where’s Ace?”

“Mr. Savage happened. As for Ace, he’s safe. For now.” The figure smiled sadly. “…Are you scared of me? Of the worms?” He raised his right hand and covered his missing eye, covered the writhing black mass. He smiled almost desperately at Shanks. “Is that better? I…I know how I look to you.” His eyes drifted closed and a tear fell from his left eye. “Please. Don’t judge me for how I look. Don’t judge any of us for how we look. We can’t help it. We can’t help this. Please, don’t turn us away because we’re broken. We never wanted this, never asked for it.” The mirror Ace laughed bitterly, brokenly. “I took Ace’s place. That’s why I lost this. Yet you don’t really see that, do you? Only the worms. Only the monster that Mr. Savage made me into.” He exhaled. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. It’s hard to understand the beauty of something that’s as broken as we are.” Shanks stared at him in silence. “…Do you care about Ace?” Shanks blinked.

“Of course I do!”

“Then please…promise me that you won’t reject him because of us. You don’t have to like us or anything, but try to accept us. We’re imperfect and flawed and broken but we are Ace. Don’t forget us. Don’t reject us.” The figure smiled sadly. “Just show Ace that you understand. Show him that it doesn’t matter that he’s imperfect and that you don’t know everything there is to know about him. Just…accept him. Know that deep down, under all the cracks and breaks and hurt, he’s still your friend, still the grinning boy who loves to listen to the waves.” A moment of silence passed.

Shanks placed Ace back on the bed, wrapped tightly in the blankets, and stood. He approached the mirror, stopping just in front of it. The mirror Ace was looking up at him and he looked down, right into that left eye.

“You know, I just realized something.” He reached up and traced the three parallel scars that ran over his right eye, grinning down at mirror Ace. “You and I match.” Mirror Ace stared up at him for a moment in surprise, then a grin spread across his face. He looked sincerely and completely happy.

After a moment he reached up with his left hand and pressed it against the glass. Shanks blinked at him, then reciprocated the gesture, pressing his own palm against the cool surface opposite mirror Ace’s.

“…Promise you’ll look after him?” Shanks gave a firm nod, smile still on his face.

“Always.” Mirror Ace glanced over his shoulder, then turned to look back at Shanks.

“I have to go. Maybe…Maybe you and I can meet again one day. Play a friendly round of croquet or chess.” Shanks smiled at him.

“I’d like that.” Mirror Ace turned to go and Shanks smiled after him, watching him slowly fade.

The mirror resumed its reflection of the room.

Shanks slowly pulled his hand from the glass and turned back to the room. As he did, he found the black cat staring up at him with those vibrant green eyes. She seemed…happy. Her eyes told him she was smiling.

“I’m proud of you. You may not particularly care, but I’m proud of you.” Shanks blinked and cocked an eyebrow.

“Wha-“

Ace sat bolt upright, a ragged cry tearing itself out of his throat. His hands instantly flew to his face. His breath came in great gasps of air, chest heaving. His skin was sticky with sweat and he curled into a ball, clutching his arms, rocking slightly back and forth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream. You’re okay. You’re okay.” His eyes were squeezed shut, forehead resting against his knees. A shudder ran down the length of his spine. “You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay” He seemed to only be growing more and more frightened, his entire body trembling. “You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay.”

Shanks approached slowly, trying not to startle Ace. He kneeled next to Ace’s bed, reaching up and gently grabbing his shoulders. Ace flinched like he always did and his head snapped up, eyes locking on Shanks’ face. Shanks met his eyes calmly.

“Ace.” Ace’s focus was entirely locked on Shanks, somewhere between terror and utter gratitude.

“…Did you save me again, captain? Or are you just another of his masks?” Ace shuddered again and Shanks saw tears beginning to form in his eyes. “…I hate it when he wears your face. When he lies about you.” Tears started falling from Ace’s eyes. “I want him to stop, Shanks. I just want him to go away. He’s always there, though. Whispering. Saying all the things I don’t want to believe.” A moment of silence passed. “…Will he ever go away?” Shanks pulled Ace forward, wrapping him in a loose embrace. He rubbed his back gently, soothingly. They remained that way for a moment before Shanks responded.

“You’re stronger than him, Ace. _Way_ stronger. If you don’t like what he says, shut him out. You can do that.” Ace was stiff with shock.

“What?” Shanks slowly released Ace and held him at arm’s length, looking right into Ace’s widened eyes. His face was serious.

“I’m going to tell you something, Ace. Something really important. You probably already know this, but you need to hear it again.” Ace met his eyes and nodded squarely. Shanks continued.

“Mr. Savage isn’t real. You need to leave him behind you, Ace.” Ace had again stiffened in Shanks’ grasp and was staring at him with wide eyes. “Ace I know and understand that Wonderland was something deeply important to you. Something that’s part of your very being. But you need to leave it behind you now. Hare isn’t coming after you anymore. You don’t need a hiding place anymore.” Ace was still staring at Shanks in shock. “I can’t even begin to imagine the hell you went through that led you to create your Wonderland, but you need to accept that it isn’t real. It can’t hurt you, Ace. You don’t need to be afraid of it.

“Wonderland’s purpose was as a refuge from Hare, right?” Ace nodded mutely. “If that’s the case, hasn’t it served its purpose? You don’t need it anymore, Ace. And what kind of refuge is it if it gets you terrified like this?” Shanks squeezed Ace’s shoulder. “I know it must be hard. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling like, what Wonderland means to you, but it’s time to come back, Ace. You can’t keep existing in both. You’re needed here, in this world.”

“Am I, though? All I’ve ever been is hated and that’s all I ever will be. I’ll never be able to find companionship. I’ll never be able to fin-“

“Don’t you _dare_ even talk like that.” Shanks looked at Ace, his eyes filled with complete shock, betrayal and hurt. “What did he _do_ to you, Ace? How could that monster have taken even this?” He gave Ace a gentle but firm shake. “ _Never_ say you don’t have people that care about you again.” Shanks seemed to be on the verge of tears himself. He shook his head from side to side. “I told Luffy I’d go and save his brother, but maybe I failed.” Ace’s eyes widened hugely.

Luffy.

When was the last time he’d even _thought_ about his little brother?

Ace raised a hand to his head, shocked and appalled at himself. “Oh my God.” It must have been weeks since Luffy had even crossed his mind. And wasn’t that his whole original objective for surviving? Getting back to his little brother? Seeing that goofy grin again? Hearing that laugh? Scolding him but knowing he didn’t really mean it whenever Luffy did something reckless? Comforting him when he had nightmares? Waking up at six o’clock every morning to cook breakfast and get ready for the day? Tears began forming in Ace’s eyes again. He felt a deep, familiar ache in his chest. He’d forgotten about that which had always been most important to him, what he’d said always would be most important to him. Sabo had _died_ so he could see Luffy again. What would Sabo think if he could see Ace now, could see how much Ace had disregarded his sacrifice.

_“He can be kind of an idiot sometimes, but he’s the nicest person you could ever hope to know.” Ace could hear the smile in Sabo’s voice._

_“He sounds great. I can’t wait to meet him!”_

_“He can be kind of a handful, but it’s totally worth it. He just…has this way of making you feel special, feel important. It’s hard to explain.”_

_“We have to make sure we get back. I don’t think he could make it on his own if he honestly almost burned your house down trying to boil water.” Ace laughed._

_“Yeah…he does need looking after.”_

_“That’s okay. What is family for? And besides, Luffy doesn’t sound like the kind of person that could handle solitude very well. He needs someone to be there.”_

Sabo had died so Ace could be there for Luffy. Ace had fought back, had kept living when most of him told him to just die because he wanted to get back to Luffy. _How…_ Tears were again forming in Ace’s eyes. _…How could I have possibly allowed this to happen?_ Memories of Luffy, of their now utopian-seeming life, flashed through Ace’s mind. The first night of Luffy’s life, Ace cradling him to his chest. Luffy’s first steps. The first time he spoke. Teaching him how to read and write. Taking a bullet for him last year when some bandits had broken into their house. Luffy’s sixth birthday, a little more than three months ago. Finding Luffy’s drawing, the uneven and lumpy figures seared perfectly into his mind, the memorized imperfection of the two words, “Me” and “Nii-san”. Faking Luffy’s death so that Hare wouldn’t take him too because Ace would have rather faced hell entirely alone than let that monster touch a hair on Luffy’s head. Tears fell freely down his face. A light sob lifted his chest. The ache in his chest was finally recognized for what it was.

Homesickness.

Ace turned his tearstained face towards Shanks. He couldn’t honestly believe how far he’d fallen. Another hitched sob tore out of his throat. Shanks’ face had morphed into one of compassion. He spread his arms and Ace didn’t hesitate to latch onto his chest, crying into Shanks’ shirt. He hated crying, hated showing how weak he’d become, but his heart hurt so much. Shanks wrapped his arms around him.

“It’s okay, Ace. Shh. I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re upset.” Shanks sounded genuinely apologetic, an unusual tone in his usually energetic voice. “It wasn’t fair of me. You’ve sacrificed so much for Luffy, it wasn’t fair of me to say-“

“Don’t.” Ace managed to choke out the syllable between his tears, trying to force his breathing into a regular pattern again. “I deserved what you said.” Another shuddering sob climbed his chest. He had a reason now, a purpose. He was needed. He needed to be alive. No more of this selfish fear, no more letting Mr. Savage anywhere _close_ to getting what he wanted. His little brother needed him. Ace’s heart ached. _How could I have forgotten? How could I have forgotten_ Luffy? A sob shook his chest and he buried his face deeper in the fabric of Shanks’ shirt.

“I want to go home.”

* * *

 

The next days of memories passed by Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard in a blur. If Marco had to guess, he’d say they’d passed about 18 days before the memories slowed to the point where they were present in them once again. When the world around them formed into a distinct image, they found themselves out on the deck of the East Wind. Ace was seated at a table with Ricky, several sheets of square paper between them. Ace’s face was pulled into a look of deep concentration as he tried to replicate the fold Ricky had just made. They were about halfway through the process necessary for making a paper crane. They’d been working on various kinds of origami for the last few days, and after the initial challenge had worn off, Ace had been determined to master it. Ricky watched Ace subtly over his glasses, thinking about the last week and a half.

Ace had changed. Shanks said he and Ace had had a conversation about some “important stuff” (Shanks refused to go into more detail than that) and after that…well, it was almost like having the old Ace back. Ace dove into any challenge presented to him with passion the Red Haired pirates had feared the boy would never show again. He applied himself to the physical therapy and when he wasn’t busy with that he could often be found reading. This morning had found him with a book in Armenian (who the hell even _knows_ where he got it) and a translating dictionary.

The progress wasn’t all leaps and bounds, though.

Ace was still having nightmares. He was still waking up screaming, whether it be from a narcolepticly-induced nap or late at night. Loud noises had him jumping or spinning around, eyes widened, searching for the source of the noise. He still feared physical contact, avoiding it when he could, reflexively flinching when he couldn’t. One time Ace had accidentally gotten locked in the storage hold. When they’d finally found him he’d been curled in a corner, hugging his arms to his chest and shaking. Whenever someone had tried to approach him he’d shrunk even further back, his breathing becoming even more erratic. It had taken hours to get him to come out again, and Ace had started compulsively checking doors, either somehow keeping them open or ensuring they couldn’t be locked.

Fast movement around Ace usually led to him flinching dramatically, as did anyone raising their arm above shoulder level when he was nearby. The crew had eventually adopted the habit of moving more lethargically, and would glance around before doing things like hoisting sails. Ace seemed to notice the change, and would smile at people apologetically every time he flinched away.

Then there had been one day of utter hell.

In the morning Ace had quietly commented that his legs were hurting a bit more than usual during his and Ricky’s physical therapy session. He’d brushed it and Ricky’s concern off, but the doctor had insisted on checking his legs. They were both seemingly the same as ever, still healing the way they should be. Ace wrote it off as just a result of the therapy, but Ricky wasn’t convinced. Ace had grinned at him and thanked him, a habit he’d developed, and seemed the same as ever, but Ricky saw something in that smile, a joy that didn’t quite touch Ace’s eyes. For the next several hours he’d kept an eye on Ace. When no one was looking, Ace’s smile would drop and Ricky frequently saw him wince. Ace would always put on another smile whenever someone was watching, though, and made no comment about any pain he may have been experiencing. Ricky had tried to approach him about it, but Ace had shaken him off, either managing to dodge the question or not fully answer it.

As the day progressed Ace’s smiles became more and more strained. He’d finally withdrawn back to the infirmary, claiming he needed a rest. He’d stumbled down the length of the hallway, leaning heavily on the walls for support, jaw grit against any sound of pain.

By the time he got to the infirmary the rain had only just started falling.

Ricky hadn’t been in the infirmary at the time, and Ace had collapsed back on the bed, clenching his jaw against the agonizing ache in his legs. Serpent, feeling his distress, had come sprinting into the room not a moment later, Ricky in tow. Ricky had grasped the situation instantly based on the pained expression Ace couldn’t hide any longer and the distant boom of thunder that sounded not a moment before.

There hadn’t been much he could do for Ace. He would have given him painkillers, but he’d had to give Ace general anesthesia the day before when he was taking out a ton of stitches, and any kind of strong medication this soon after could be potentially dangerous. In the end, all he could do was sit back and watch helplessly and try to comfort Ace in any way he could.

Ace lay there, jaw clenched in pain, hands balled into fists, eyes squeezed shut. Never before in his life had Ricky felt quite so powerless. Of course he’d instantly told Shanks of the predicament, and the crew had been informed. They told Ricky that they were going to try to get out of the storm as soon as possible, but that they couldn’t give him any kind of estimate on time.

The day passed in tense silence, everyone wanting to do something to help but unsure of just what they should or could be doing. As darkness fell, Ricky, Benn, Shanks, Yassop, and Roo reached a silent consensus, taking shifts watching Ace. Nobody wanted to leave him by himself for any stretch of time.

As the storm grew progressively worse, so did Ace. His pain maxed out some time around ten o’clock at night, the storm reaching all new levels of chaos. Every muscle in his body seemed tightened with agony, his back arched slightly, face a grimace of pain. A cry of pain actually managed to tear itself out of his throat at some point against his will. It was then that Serpent, who’d been by his side the whole time, did something unexpected.

She’d jumped off the bed and onto the bedside table, rummaging through Ace’s things until she found what she was looking for. She withdrew it from the stack of personal, important possessions of Ace’s and pushed it so it was more fully in the light of the one remaining candle beside Ace’s bed. Benn, the one currently with Ace, watched her in surprise, not removing his hand from Ace’s, which had it in a pain-locked grip.

It was the brown leather notebook. The one Benn had found in the cell next to Ace’s.

Serpent nosed it open to the first page, using one paw to hold the book open. She took a deep breath, then begun to read.

Hearing poetry had surprised Benn. He didn’t know what he’d expected to be in that book, but poetry certainly wasn’t on the top of the list. Nonetheless, Serpent’s voice was smooth and almost lyrical as she read the poetry, and the words themselves seemed to hum in the air with a beauty all their own.

They had an instantaneous affect on Ace.

His eyes had shot open and his gaze had instantly flown right to Serpent and the book. She didn’t pause in her reading, and after a moment of Ace staring he blinked twice and gave a firm nod. After that he directed his gaze back towards the ceiling, jaw set less with pain and more with determination. His eyes drifted softly closed as he listened to the poem, body beginning to relax for the first time in hours.

The night had been long and rough, and by the end Benn, over the course of two Ace-watches, was certain he’d heard every poem in that book twice.

Ace drifted off at around three in the morning, the storm outside beginning to subside. It was clear he was exhausted. His face was pale and dark rings had formed under his eyes. Serpent, though, hadn’t stopped reading the poetry all night. Benn had no doubt it was the words contained in that book that had allowed Ace to finally relax enough to sleep, and when Serpent had finally fallen asleep mid-sentence in Shape and Form, Benn had carefully scooped her up, placed her gently next to Ace, and almost reverently shut the book, placing it back with Ace’s other belongings.

He stayed with Ace for another hour, only leaving when Ricky came in and told him to go to bed. Ricky looked as worn out as Benn felt and seeing Ace finally asleep, no pain clouding his face or tensing his muscles, seemed to lift a great weight off the doctor.

The next day things had gone back to normal. The ache faded entirely from Ace’s mending bones by eleven o’clock and it wasn’t long before he was back to his wandering about the ship. Ricky gave him the day off physical therapy, not wanting to aggravate the injury any more than necessary, and Ace hadn’t protested. He’d spent the afternoon sketching, acting almost as if the last night hadn’t even happened.

That had been the last major event, and everything had been smooth sailing since. Ricky was truly amazed by Ace’s recovery, proud that his friend had managed to bounce back so completely from everything he’d suffered over the last two months. Ace was getting better, physically and mentally.

Through some weird, what he assumed to be genetic thing, Ace was healing remarkably fast and remarkably well. Ricky couldn’t believe it, but based on how things were going, he doubted Ace would even scar.

For Ace this was an infinite blessing. He didn’t really care what he looked like to others, but to have to walk around every day for the rest of his live with a visible, obvious reminder of what had happened to him didn’t sound pleasant. It was another of the reasons he applied himself so hard to the physical therapy. He didn’t want any kind of trigger for memories, be it a particularly stiff finger or pain in his legs whenever he took a step.

As Ace made the final fold with his right hand, he lifted the paper to his mouth, giving a piece a firm tug with his teeth. He held out his hand, showing the result to Ricky, grinning.

“There. You see? Told you I could do it with one hand.” Ricky looked at the folded crane, surprised by the near perfection of the folds. _He did that with one hand? And his right hand no less._ A smile spread across his face.

“Very good, Ace.” As he looked to Ace’s face, though, he could tell the boy hadn’t even heard what he’d said. No, Ace was staring off to his left, off the bow of the ship.

Ace was staring at the fast approaching island.

Ace stood mutely from his chair, dropping the folded crane to the table. He walked to the bow of the ship, still staring out at that approaching black smudge, ever growing more distinct. He couldn’t explain how he felt at that very moment, seeing Fuushia Village again.

Ace knew he’d never be able to explain what seeing his home again felt like.

Already he could make out the larger features, the seaside cliffs on the west side of the island, the gentle slope of the beachy shores on the east. Colors began solidifying themselves on the formerly dark mass, and Ace could make out the yellow-green of the leaves, only just starting to change. He could see the dark grey of the slate-filled cliffs near his house, he could see the gentle waving yellow of the wheat fields, the tiny white specks of the windmills, sporadically dispersed across the sloping hills. Ace heard quiet footsteps approaching, but couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away long enough to see who it was.

“Well? How does it feel?” Ace shook his head slowly, too overwhelmed to form a descriptive answer.

“It feels like I’m home.”

* * *

 

The ship seemed to pull in far too quickly after that. Ace was an odd mix of emotions, had been for the last half an hour. On one hand, he couldn’t even begin to explain the joy he felt at returning somewhere he’d thought he’d never see again, the rush of hearing the waves against the cliffs.

On the other hand Ace was terrified.

As they approached the dock, all Ace could see was the memory of the cruel things he’d said to Luffy, the last things Luffy had understood him saying before he’d been dragged away. Yeah they had been lies told for Luffy’s own safety, but what if he’d actually believed them? Luffy hung on Ace’s every word, believed the things Ace told him to be irrefutable fact. _What if they didn’t explain it to him? What if he thinks I really don’t care about him? What if he doesn’t want to be a part of my family anymore?_ These questions terrified Ace, and the truth was he couldn’t answer them either way. There was one question, though, that scared him more than any other.

_…What if he hates me now?_

Ace wasn’t sure what he’d do. What would he have left to live for? What would have been his reason for surviving?

By the time they reached the dock, Ace was almost having panic attacks. A small crowd had gathered near the docks, and Ace could make out Makino’s familiar form among them. The gangplank was finally lowered, Ace left staring at it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Serpent pressed reassuringly against his leg, speaking over their mental link.

_You’re overreacting._

_Am I? I’m…I’m not so sure._

_Well either way you need to go and find out, don’t you think?_ Serpent’s voice wasn’t patronizing or mocking or sarcastic. She spoke to him softly, understanding his fragility at the moment. Ace forced himself to take a deep breath and nodded.

Ace stepped forward into the unknown.

The wood felt solid under his feet, but Ace still walked hesitantly down the gangplank. He looked nervously at the crowd as he walked closer to the dock, closer to home, his eyes catching on Makino in particular.

She was crying.

Her face was spread into a joyous, relieved smile, tears flowing freely down her face. She dabbed at them with a cloth. She looked like she wanted to run forward and hold him, but didn’t. Instead, she turned away for just a moment, coming back to face him and pointing at him, still looking down at someone else.

Ace’s eyes registered wild, unkempt black hair, wide chocolate-brown eyes, and an expression of shock and joy before the boy was running at him at a dead sprint.

“Ace!” Ace stumbled forward, tears rising in his own eyes, sprinting towards his little brother. Just before they collided, Ace slid to his knees, wrapping Luffy in a warm embrace.

Luffy had his face buried in Ace’s chest, arms wrapped around Ace’s torso like he never meant to let go and for once Ace didn’t feel the pain in his legs, didn’t feel the ache of his broken and fractured ribs. Luffy was sobbing hysterically, tears already beginning to soak Ace’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, Ace! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I never listen, I’m sorry if I’m annoying, I’m sorry if you don’t like me! Please, just don’t leave me again! I’ll never be bad again, I swear, just don’t…don’t leave me alone.” Luffy’s sobs were coming in great gasps and Ace only held him tighter. He felt tears in his own eyes, tears of pure joy as he held his little brother.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, Luffy. It wasn’t your fault.” Ace could feel the smile on his face as well as the first tear running down his cheek. He sniffed noisily and buried his face in Luffy’s shoulder. Luffy seemed to tense.

“Wh-Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong again?” Ace raised his face from Luffy’s shoulder, using one hand to wipe away the stubborn tears.

“Nah. Big brothers don’t cry. It’s just…a cold.” Ace held Luffy to his chest, not letting him see the tears that were all too obvious.

“Everything’s going to be better now, okay Luffy? Everything’s going to be better. I promise.”

Ace didn’t know how long they stayed there, only that he was the happiest he could ever remember being in his life. No Wonderland could compare to this. No constructed reality could ever bring him this depth of peace, warmth, and belonging. If Ace could he would have stayed there forever.

Makino and Shanks stood off to the side a ways. Shanks was smiling warmly at the two boys. Ace saw him looking and met his eyes for a moment, his smile widening.

Thank you.

He only mouthed the words, but Shanks understood anyways. He smiled back and nodded. He’d been relieved to see Ace’s reaction to Luffy. Ace was still terrified of contact with other people, and never displayed any kind of physical affection towards anyone. Shanks had heard Ace’s words to Luffy and wondered at them. _“Everything’s going to be better now.”_ He watched Ace, the smile not leaving his face. What Ace had said was true. He was going to get a whole lot better now, now that he was home. Already he’d healed more.

Because, for the first time in two months, Ace hadn’t shied away from physical contact.

* * *

 

The sun was setting in blazing hues of gold, amber, and garnet. Ace stood on the cliff near his house, staring out at the sun, listening to the crashing of the waves far below him and feeling the sea wind on his skin. Beside him were three simple, plain tombstones, unassuming and nothing more than reminders of people worth remembering.

Ace didn’t believe in any god or gods, but he liked to think there was somewhere good people got to rest after all the cruelty of life.

He didn’t think a tombstone had anything to do with what happened to a person after they died, but thought of them as a kind of proof that that person had existed and deserved to be remembered by anyone who saw the stone. Ace sat next to the three tombstones. As he always did, he felt a sadness that they were gone, but there was far more than that. Respect, admiration, love… These people deserved far more than Ace was capable of giving them, but he hoped they could accept what he could offer them.

He’d finished Sabo’s gravestone not an hour before.

“…I know you’re probably not listening right now, but I hope all three of you can hear me.” Ace’s voice was even. There were no tears in his voice, no pain, no fear, only that love for those who’re never _really_ gone. “I’m going to say something, and I want you three to all listen to it and hold me accountable to it.” Again a pause. Ace didn’t expect any kind of response, just wanted to give his words time to sink in. He slowly lifted something from the ground next to him.

“I’m going to make a promise. A promise to all three of you.” Ace fingered the object, twirling it around absently. Ace closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“For my entire life I’ve depended on the sacrifices of others for my own life. None of you deserved to die, not at all.” A tiny smile came to his face. “I can imagine what you’re all saying right now. Sophie, you’re saying your death had nothing to do with me, wasn’t my fault at all. Mother, Sabo, you’re probably both saying you chose to save me, that your sacrifice was completely voluntary. I recognize that all of you have your own valid points. I understand what you’re saying and where you’re coming from on this, but I can’t help but feel at least partly responsible. So from here on out, this is my promise.” Ace took a deep breath.

“Never, _never_ again, unto pain, death, and beyond will I _ever_ have to bury someone I care about again. No more family tombstones up on this cliff. No more guilt. Luffy’s my only family left now, _our_ only family left, and I swear to all three of you, I’ll never, _never_ let him die or suffer, not so long as there’s an ounce of blood left in my body.” Ace smiled. “And maybe one day I’ll understand how you felt. Maybe one day I’ll be called to make your same sacrifice. This is a promise to you that I will always, always be willing to make that sacrifice. Because it’s worth it. Saving my family would be worth it.” A long moment of silence passed then, and Ace felt a deep resolve take hold in the very core of his being. He stood and smiled down at the gravestones.

“But for now it’s time to live. To live here, in this world. To live where I’m needed.” Ace hefted the object in his hands, regarding it one last time.

“Wonderland isn’t needed anymore. I’m done with it. Luffy needs me more than I need it.” A tiny smile came to his face. “Goodbye, Rabbit, Dodo, Cheshire, Dormouse, Hatter, March Hare, Caterpillar, Queen, Jabberwocky. This is it. The end of the Caucus Race.” Ace threw the object, watched it spin and flash in the half-set sunlight. He turned back to the graves.

“I’ll look after Luffy. That’s a promise.” Ace smiled one last time at them before walking back to the house.

He didn’t see wait to see the splash as the Vorpal Blade hit the water.


	34. Chapter 34

Ace sat bolt upright, barely repressing a scream. It was dark, dark, dark, and where was he? What was going on? Was he back? Did he never escape at all?

Ace tumbled out of bed and had to fight to stifle another scream as he landed badly on his side, broken ribs flaring up in protest. Nonetheless he scrambled to his feet and stumble-ran to the door, throwing it open with a bang.

The hallway was dark too, and Ace couldn’t distinguish any differences between it and the hallway that ran beside his cell. Ace felt terror rising and beginning to consume him. He was back, he was going to be hurt, there was going to be nothing left, he’d cast aside Wonderland, where was he supposed to hide now? He was going to die here, never going to get to-

“Ace?” Ace’s head snapped to the side, eyes wide.

Luffy.

He stood in the doorway to his room, rubbing his eyes sleepily with one hand, leaning against the doorframe with the other.

“What was that banging?” Luffy’s words were slurred, his eyes bleary with tiredness. Ace felt the terror melt away, replaced by warm affection and a touch of guilt. He walked to Luffy and wrapped him in a loose hug, petting the back of his head.

“It was nothing, Luffy.”

“Then why are you scared?” Luffy himself seemed to be growing frightened. Anything that could get _Ace_ scared _had_ to be terrifying. Ace stiffened at his words and willed the betraying shaking running through his limbs to stop. He took a deep breath, coming up with the mildest way of saying what he had to.

“…You know those nightmares you have some times?” He felt Luffy nod against his shoulder. “Well…Sometimes I get them too.” He drew back from Luffy and knelt down in front of him, looking him in the eye. “When that man took me away he used…a scary power that he has to give me nightmares. I still get them a lot, but it’s nothing you need to worry about, okay? I’m fine.” Luffy seemed to consider this for a moment, looking deep in thought.

“…Do you want to come sleep in my bed?” Ace blinked in surprise and Luffy grinned at him. “Whenever I have nightmares you always let me come sleep with you. You always say you’ll scare away all my nightmares, and you always do! I bet I can scare away yours too, if you like.” Luffy’s grin practically gave off its own light it was so bright. Ace smiled, one of his now very rare genuine smiles, and ruffled Luffy’s hair.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 _You know, this is kind of getting old_ REALLY _fast._ Ace chuckled, looking over to see Luffy hugging Serpent. Only problem? He was holding her upside down. Ace could feel the annoyance radiating off Serpent in waves and it was only her ire, now directed at his amusement, which kept him from laughing outright.

 _I never said you couldn’t run away. But NO scratching and NO biting._ Serpent seemed to come to life from her previous limpness. She writhed and slithered in a way that would make her namesake proud, dropping out of Luffy’s arms like liquid. Luffy gasped at her in surprise, and she didn’t hesitate a moment to bolt across the room, into the kitchen. She leapt up onto the counter, then up on top of the cupboard above. Ace, frankly, was surprised she didn’t break the sound barrier in her haste.

Luffy came running into the kitchen, practically squealing in delight. His speed nearly matched hers, and it was only a matter of instants that kept Serpent from being back in Luffy’s grasp. She sat on the top of the cupboard and glared down at him, tail tip twitching in the feline gesture most associated with ‘go fuck yourself to death and then rot in hell forever.’

 _Whoa, easy there. I think you may light him on_ fire _with a look like that._ Serpent turned her gaze to him and the glare lost none of its rancorousness.

 _As much affection as I may have for Luffy, after being held upside down, pulled across the floor, and petted with enough fury to kill a mongoose for_ TWO FUCKING HOURS- Ace tried to cut her off but she was having none of it. _NO I DON’T HAVE TO KEEP IT ‘G RATED’ IN OUR MINDS BECAUSE HE CAN’T FUCKING HEAR ME, OKAY?_ Ace tried to convey placation, but Serpent didn’t even pause.

_He’s a menace, a bane on all cats-_

_He’s six years old!_

_THAT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT HE’S MAKING ME CONTEMPLATE MASS MURDER._

_…I’m not sure they could actually arrest you for that. You are a cat, after all._

_Well they’re going to have to do something with me so that I don’t kill off the entire fucking planet and- JESUS CHRIST!_ Serpent sunk her claws into the wood of the cabinets, clutching desperately at it in an attempt to stay on top of it while Luffy attempted to pull her down by the grip he had on her tail. Serpent’s eyes locked on Ace’s and he saw pure desperation in her. _Please, save me! Spare me! I’ll do anything, I’ll never swear at you again-_ Ace felt a conniving smile coming to his face and being conveyed over the mental link.

 _Now that’s a promise both of us_ know _you won’t keep._ Serpent was pulled another inch.

 _Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!_ She was now only moments away from the edge of the cabinet.

 _…You seem to be over-dramatizing this._ Serpent had the wood in a death-grip, clutching the surface as if it was the only thing keeping her from utter torment.

 _I-I’ll never complain about him again! I’ll watch him all day tomorrow so you can get a rest-_ again Ace was about to cut her off but Serpent continued. _Yes I know you haven’t been sleeping well, don’t try to hide it. I_ swear _on my_ life _that I’ll do it tomorrow, just please, spare me today!_ Ace considered the deal. He did need to get some rest. The nightmares hadn’t abated, not at all. He’d gotten better at hiding them, though. He didn’t scream when he woke up anymore, a behavior he’d forced upon himself after he’d terrified Luffy one night, and even if he did have a panic attack upon waking, Serpent was always there to bring him out of it.

Serpent herself was able to help with the nightmares sometimes. Through their linked minds she could interact with Ace’s psyche even when he was asleep. If she was awake when he started to have a nightmare she was sometimes able to divert his dream into something else or just darkness. That was only sometimes, though, and even with Serpent doing everything in her power – Ace knew she hadn’t been sleeping well either – he was still waking up terrified almost every night.

Serpent would be there and would be apologetic despite the fact that Ace told her over and over again it wasn’t her fault she couldn’t change his dreams _all_ the time. Her warmth, the feeling of something alive pressing against him in a gesture of comfort, as well as the gentle images and emotions she would send over their mental bond would usually calm him down after a nightmare, and if it was particularly bad they’d spend hours like this, Ace curled in a ball clutching Serpent to his chest like he wanted her to climb into his heart.

_…Fine. I have to go see Ricky tomorrow anyway. He’s insisting on weekly checkups for the next two months. I was going to leave Luffy with Makino, but since you’re volunteering I guess you can handle it._

“Luffy, I don’t think you should be doing that.” Luffy paused in his pulling on Serpent’s tail.

“Aw, but I want to play with Kitty!” Ace felt a smirk pull at his mouth.

“You can play with _Kitty_ ” He cast a glance at Serpent, emphasizing the word. She glared at him, hard. “Later. I think she needs a little break just now. Besides, it’s lunchtime.”

            “FOOD!” Luffy released Serpent’s tail instantly, running over to the table as Ace set a plate of sandwiches down. He instantly set into one with gusto, packing nearly half of it into his mouth in one go. Ace gave him a disapproving look.

“Smaller bites, Luffy. You’re going to choke if you keep that up.” Ace took a sandwich himself, eating at a more reserved pace. It was getting much less frequent, but eating too quickly or too much still made Ace sick sometimes. Ricky said it was because of how long he’d been without food and promised it’d be gone soon.

“Mmff.” Luffy, half a sandwich still miraculously shoved in his mouth, couldn’t really speak.

“...I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that was affirmative.”  

* * *

 

“But I’m not tiiiirrrreeed...” Luffy whined. Ace smiled at him.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s bedtime.” Luffy pouted at him and Ace chuckled. His laughter faded but a tiny smile remained on his face. “Well, what can I do to make you tired?”

“Tell me a story!” Ace blinked.

“A story?” Luffy nodded energetically.

“Yeah! An adventure!” Ace leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, right beside Luffy’s bed. He considered the request for a moment and pulled his face into a dramatized mask of deep thought.

“An adventure he says? Hmmm...” Ace chewed on the idea, trying to find the best way to begin. “Well, I think I’ve got one you might find interesting.” Luffy’s eyes shone with excitement.

“Really? Yes!” Ace smiled at Luffy. From Luffy’s bedside table he pulled a sheet of paper and a pencil. He began to draw, sketching a simple yet warm image of a girl laying in a field of daisies, small cat by her side.

“This is the story of Alice and her adventures in Wonderland.”

* * *

 

“...`Hold your tongue!' said the Queen, turning purple.

`I won't!' said Alice.

`Off with her head!' the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody moved.

`Who cares for you?' said Alice, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) `You're nothing but a pack of cards!'

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.

‘Wake up, Alice dear!’ said her sister; ‘Why, what a long sleep you've had!’

‘Oh, I've had such a curious dream!’ said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been hearing about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, ‘It WAS a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it's getting late.’ So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.” Ace handed Luffy the last drawing, an image of the waking Alice, head on her sister’s lap, card soldiers leaping towards her from the left side of the image but turning to leaves as they neared her. Ace took in a deep breath, his next two words seeming more important than they should have. They came out as little more than a whisper, and even to Ace’s ears they sounded stunned. Baffled.

“...The end.” Luffy looked at the drawing before turning to look at Ace, awed smile on his face.

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Ace gave Luffy a weary smile and stood, taking the candleholder from Luffy’s bedside table with him. He cast his eyes around, taking in the scattered illustrations on Luffy’s bed before forcing his gaze to return to Luffy’s face.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.” “Okay.” Luffy snuggled himself deeper under the covers. “G’night, Ace.” Ace smiled at him and slipped out the door.

“Goodnight.” He pulled it shut behind him with a faint click, not letting the smile drop off his face until he was sure it was closed. Once it was he leaned back against the wall, hearing his head fall against it with a soft thud. He remained that way for a moment, then lifted himself away, turning and walking downstairs, grabbing a jacket, and walking out the front door.

The night air was cool against his skin, and as he walked briskly dew from the grass, now mostly dry from the fast-approaching winter, stained the bottom of his pants. He let his feet carry him where they would and wasn’t surprised when he ended up on the sea cliff by his family’s graves. He sat down in the cool grass, not minding the damp. He tipped his head back slowly, letting it hang, and stared up at the dome of stars above him. Far below he could hear the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the cliffs and, as it always did, it began to ease the tension from his mind.

Ace didn’t know how long he sat there in silence, watching the stars and hearing the waves. The only way he knew time passed at all was by the waves and his own breathing. The silence, the wind, the sea crashing far below him, his family’s tombstones beside him...they settled him. Reminded him of promises he wasn’t going to break.

 _Why did you do that?_ Ace looked down and to his left. Serpent was seated there looking up at him with questioning, sympathetic eyes. Ace closed his eyes and sighed.

 _Luffy deserved to know at least part of it. So I told him about Wonderland as it should have been, innocent and naive and perfect._ They sat in silence for a long time, watching the stars, listening to the sea, tasting the wind. Ace felt as if he could have sat there forever. There was serenity on that cliff. Peace. Quietude. Solitude. Just him and the dead and Serpent. Serpent...

 _...I haven’t been very fair to you, have I?_ Serpent looked up at him in surprise, blinking at his words.

_What’re you-_

_You never asked to be a companion to me like this. You must get tired of having to listen to me whine and mope when you have no real reason to care._

_That’s not-_

_I should have done a better job creating you. I should have given you your own mind. It’s not fair of me to keep you trapped here._

_Ace, where is this coming from?_ Ace sighed.

 _Thinking about Wonderland just made me remember things. Like how I failed to create you properly. I feel bad because you deserve to be your own being, you_ are _your own being, and here I am denying you a fundamental piece of your existence. The piece of my mind that was used when you were made_ is _yours, yet thus far I’ve clung to it, clung to you, and kept you both as part of me. It’s not fair to you. You didn’t sign up for all the baggage that comes along with being a companion to me. You don’t deserve to suffer the same painful memories, be exposed to my hurt just because you exist._ Ace took a deep breath. _That’s why...I made you something._ He drew her attention to a specific area of their shared mindscape, right along the border between their minds. Serpent’s eyes widened. Ace continued before she could speak. _...This is for you. If you ever want to leave all of my faults and failures behind._ Before now their minds had been bonded seamlessly, and still really were, but Ace had added something.

A door.

A door that could be closed on Serpent’s will.

Serpent was left utterly speechless. Here Ace was, giving her an open invitation to leave, to be her own being, to be complete. She stared at the door in wonder, stared at the choice lying right in front of her. Serpent smiled mentally. Who was she kidding? There was no choice. She already knew what her answer was. Serpent stood and turned back towards the house.

 _Idiot. Come back to the house. It’s time to get some sleep._ Ace looked after her in confusion. She continued in the same tone of voice, but her quiet affection was clearly discernable under it. _You would have thought with all our shared intelligence I would have chosen an easier best friend. Honestly, you’re so high strung sometimes!_ Serpent turned back around and trotted away. Ace stared after her in shock for a moment before clambering to his feet and following her, massive smile splitting his face.

Serpent felt a smile come to her own face. She closed her eyes, thinking only to herself. _High strung? Maybe. But I lied. I couldn’t have made a better choice._ The door remained there between their minds as it was and always would remain.

Open.  

* * *

 

Walking through Fuushia Village had never felt as hard as it did that morning. Ace felt exposed, visible, like at any moment someone was going to pop out, grab him, and deliver him back into hell. Ace fought to keep his breathing and steps even, and had one hand curled into a fist, trying to release some of his tension.

He knew he knew everyone here and he had no viable reason to be as jumpy as he was, but he couldn’t help the anxiety coursing through him. It made him feel guilty, being scared of people he used to trust, but he couldn’t help it. The faces seemed less familiar, he’d forgotten the details, and so everyone he passed seemed in some way new of different. Like half-strangers. And anyone Ace didn’t know might be a threat.

Reaching the East Wind was a relief to Ace. It was more familiar to him, the wood of the deck comforting beneath his feet. He felt his mind beginning to relax, the tension beginning to leave his shoulders.

“Բարև՛ Ձեզ.” Ace felt a smile come to his face and turned.

“Բարի լույս: ինչպես եք?” Benn smiled at him.

“I’m well. Your Armenian is certainly getting better. You’re still pronouncing your ‘եք’s a little wrong, though.” Ace shrugged.

“I’ve only been working on Armenian for what, two weeks? I’ll get better.” Benn glanced behind Ace.

“Hey, where’s Luffy? I would have thought he’d be unwilling to let you out of his sight.”

“He was still asleep when I left this morning. Serpent will take care of him until I get back.” Benn’s eyebrows lifted.

“You left your cat to take care of your little brother?” Ace grinned up at Benn.

“Anyone who can beat you at chess twice is capable of taking care of Luffy for a few hours.” A touch of outrage came into Benn’s face.

“It was only once. The other time was a stalemate.” Ace chuckled.

“Whatever you say, Benn. Whatever you say. Would you mind telling me where Ricky is? I’d like to get back before Luffy blows up our house trying to cook lunch.” Benn blinked.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re here for your checkup. Ricky’s probably down in his office. He was about half an hour ago, anyway.” Benn smiled at Ace. “I’ll let you get to it. See you later, Ace.” Ace smiled back and nodded. He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back.

“Oh, and by the way, I promise to have that book back to you before you guys set out, okay?” Benn laughed and smiled jokingly.

“I expect you to be fluent by then, you hear me?” Ace grinned and nodded before turning away and walking below decks. Weaving through the belly of the ship was easy having spent a month aboard it, and Ace made it to the infirmary in no time. Ricky looked up when Ace walked into the room, and Ace could tell the doctor was happy to see him.

The checkup went well. Ricky checked on Ace’s progress with the physical therapy (he’d given Ace several exercises he could do at home) and had just started removing bandages so he could check Ace’s injuries when they ran into a hitch.

He had just started unwrapping Ace’s left arm, only revealed the very beginning of the healing gashes and burns on Ace’s arm when he froze and Ace heard his sharp intake of breath. Ace was instantly on edge, his shoulders tensing.

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” Ricky seemed to hesitate, then gently touched Ace’s skin, just below his elbow. Ace fought to hide the flinch but knew he didn’t quite manage it. Ricky hesitated again before speaking.

            “Well…there’s a slight…problem, Ace.” Ace was fighting to stay calm.

            “What’s the matter?” His voice was cool, distant. He was struggling internally, trying to glue on the mask of cool porcelain, smooth and placid. He wouldn’t panic. Whatever it was, he could handle it.

            “Well…it’s not…serious. Yet. I think…I think some of the injuries on your arm may be getting infected.” A moment of deadly silence passed. Ace swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

            “…Getting or are?”

            “Getting.” Ace took another deep breath as some of the tension left the air.

            “You can do something to help, right?”

            “Yes, I can definitely help, but you’re going to have to be very careful with your arm for the next…while. To be honest, we caught it so early it may not even be infected, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I can help and the infection will go away, but if it’s exposed to more bacteria during the curing process it could get worse. This is a very delicate situation I have a treatment, but depending on how long it’s been like this you could lose the-“ Ricky cut himself off, practically slapping himself across the face to stop the words that had been about to fall out. Ace had frozen, entire body tense.

            _Calm. Stay calm. You can deal with this. No point panicking._ Ace forced himself to keep breathing. He was scrambling to keep together the rapidly crumbling façade of calm. He took a shaky breath. “I could lose the arm. That’s what you were going to say, right?” Ricky hesitated again, but he knew Ace would know he was lying if he said anything different now.

            “…Yes. But that’s not going to happen, okay? We’re going to treat this before it gets to that point. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ace hesitated, then nodded.

“Y…Yeah. Okay.” Ace took a deep breath, trying to establish some semblance of calm. _Losing an_ arm?Ace tried to imagine life without the arm. Doing everything one handed. There would be a lot he couldn’t do. Would he be able to take care of Luffy properly? Would he be able to take care of _himself?_ He didn’t know. Ace fought down the tide of panic trying to rise in his chest. “What should I do?” Ace looked up, intending to meet Ricky’s eyes and face the problem head on. Ace blinked in shock.

Ricky wasn’t there anymore.

Ace looked around, seeing none of the familiarity of the infirmary. He was in some kind of vast, blank space. White. No sound, no movement, nothing. It was neither bright nor dark, simply was. There was no sensation, even seeing itself being ambiguous as there was nothing to see. Time passed, but Ace had no way of measuring it. He’d tried to use his pulse to try and measure time, but when he pressed fingers against his neck or wrist, there was nothing. It was as if time had stopped. Ace felt uneasy thinking about the other reason his pulse might be gone.

For Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard, the experience was a bit different. Where Ace could see only opaque whiteness, the three of them saw the memories of Ace’s life for the last ten years rushing by, everything from when he left his home at 17 to be a pirate, meeting the Whitebeard crew, the assassination attempts, his finally joining, everything, just as they had seen the earlier, skimmed-over memories.

For some reason, though, Ace couldn’t see them and time didn’t seem to be passing for him. He didn’t grow older, he didn’t make any internal remarks about the memories, he just waited. Waited for something to change, waited for there to be something he could respond to. There was nothing he could do to change the situation, he’d already tried wandering around, looking for some way out of this whiteness, nobody responded after he hesitantly called out. So he waited. He eventually sat down, seeing no point in standing, but was on edge, prepared to run if anything came at him suddenly. The initial fear faded after a while, and once it did he soon found himself growing bored of all this waiting.

Change came in the form of a concussive blast like a shockwave, bowling Ace over even from his sitting position. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by whiteness, his eyes perceived a brilliant flash of light that blinded him. As he was knocked back by the undefined force, he felt his head smack something, hard. He remained conscious, but the blow left his ears ringing and he had to beat back blackness from the edge of his vision. The force and the flash ended as suddenly as they had begun, and the whole ordeal lasted no more than a moment.

Ace clung to consciousness, desperately fighting to keep from passing out. Thinking movement would be unproductive, Ace remained where he was for a moment, taking stock of his current condition. His head throbbed, and his ears were still ringing from the blow he’d received. He could perceive light shining through his eyelids, and based on the warmth it was probably sunlight. He was lying on something…softish. Softer than wood or stone, at any rate. Something like dirt or grass. He began to perceive other things too, things less immediate.

Ace heard a voice.

“Ace! Ace, where are you?!” The words were familiar, but the voice was…wrong. Ace felt suspicion and tension beginning to curl in his stomach.

He didn’t know that voice.

Deciding it was time to move, Ace sat up, rubbing his head to try to lessen the pounding. He opened his eyes slowly, trying not to blind himself in the still seemingly too-bright sunlight. Almost two months without it had him squinting in shade and doing his best not to go utterly blind in full sunlight. Ace rubbed at his eyes, wishing they’d adjust faster so he could look around and see who spoke.

“Who are you? Are you lost?” The voice was gentler, but it was still unfamiliar and that set Ace on edge. Anyone he didn’t trust with his life he didn’t trust at all anymore. Ace turned his head to look at the person who spoke.

He was fairly tall, fit but not excessively thin, red-brown hair arranged in a way that had Ace mentally quirking an eyebrow but Ace’s physical face remained impassive. _…I don’t think I could beat him as I am._ Ace eyed the sword that was strapped to his waist. _I’m unarmed. If I need to get away, running’s a better option._ He loosely scanned the man’s frame again, and saw no projectile weapons. He did, however, note the calluses on the man’s hands, almost the same as Shanks’. Swordsman’s calluses. _Good_ swordsman’s calluses. _Yup. Definitely running._ Running might not have been the noble, heroic thing to do, but it would keep him alive until such a time that he figured out what the hell was going on, who this man was, what he wanted, and where, most importantly, he was.

Oh yes, he’d glanced around his surroundings too. He’d only glanced, though, focusing more on the man in front of him. He was somewhere very different from Fuushia Village, that’s for sure. The biome here was entirely wrong. It was too humid, too hot. It was almost winter back home, but it felt like the middle of summer here. The plants were wrong too. Vines draped off the trees, and the trees weren’t the maples and oaks and aspens and birches of home, they were something strange, something Ace had never seen. Waxy, wide leaves filled their branches, and Ace caught glimpses of birds he was just about certain he’d never seen before. There was also something instinctive, something primal that said he was very, _very_ far from home. It was the same part of him that told him it’d be better to run if this man attacked. Ace tended to trust what that voice said.

Ace’s attention was mainly focused on the man in front of him, though. Ace needed to carefully gauge his reaction that he might gain at least some insight into what kind of person he was dealing with. Seeing the shock and surprise on the man’s face had been expected, at least to some extent, but there was one thing there that bothered Ace.

Recognition.

“…Ace?” Ace tried not to show his rising dread. He didn’t know this man, but this man knew his name. How could he know his name? He wasn’t a member of Shanks’ crew, and he wasn’t anyone from Fuushia Village. That left only one option.

_He’s somehow related to Hare._

He needed answers. Now. Before anything else, he needed a fuller picture of what was going on.

“How do you know my name? Where the hell am I?” The man was still staring at him in that mixture of shock and recognition, but Ace noted there was a kind of tension forming beneath that, like the man was nervous about something. He remained silent, not responding to either of Ace’s questions. He seemed to be lost in thought, and Ace glanced around his surroundings, wondering if now might be a good time to start his escape. Ace was tense, his senses focused on the man, ready to dodge at the first sign of movement. When the man reached out a hand, Ace instantly flinched back, expecting a blow. The man looked surprised, but didn’t ask.

“Come on, Ace. It’s not safe in the jungle. I’m going to take you somewhere safer.” Ace didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t like the thought of following this man anywhere, and there was his name again, dropped like this man used it every day. Ace, upon standing, took up a stance perfect for dashing off on short notice or hand-to-hand combat, ready to respond as the situation called for. He kept his eyes locked on the man’s trying to figure him out, trying to guess at his motives.

“Where are you trying to take me?” The man seemed to catch on to his suspicion and uneasiness and raised his hands in a gesture of placation.

“I’m just going to take you back to the ship. There are people there who will take care of you.” Ace felt his heart clench in his chest and he considered bolting right there. The words ‘the ship’ weren’t so much frightening as the word ‘ _back_ ’. This man was referring to somewhere Ace had been before. There was really only one ‘ship’ besides the East Wind that Ace had been on. And Ace knew this wasn’t one of Shanks’ nakama. But…Ace didn’t recognize this as one of Hare’s men either. True he hadn’t seen all of Hare’s crew, but on top of Ace’s unfamiliarity with his face and voice, this man wasn’t wearing a marine uniform and didn’t carry himself with the same rigid obedience all of Hare’s men did. His stance and appearance was looser. More like Shanks and his friends. Ace mentally chewed his lip.

“Marine or pirate?” The man blinked, seemingly surprised by the question.

“I’m a pirate.” The ease with which the answer came partially proved its sincerity in Ace’s mind. If he’d lied there would have been a slight pause where he decided whether to lie or not. And most marines spat the word pirate like a curse. Unless this man was just one hell of a good liar, he was telling the truth. Ace felt a bit of tension ease out of his shoulders.

“You’re not part of Shanks’ crew. Who are you?” Again the man’s response came with the speed of honesty.

“My name is Thatch. I’m the fourth division commander of the Whitebeard pirates.” Ace blinked. _Whitebeard. Shanks told me about him. The way he explained it, Whitebeard seemed like a pretty good guy…_ Ace found himself subconsciously talking.

“Shanks mentioned Whitebeard a few times…” Ace regarded the man, this ‘Thatch’ who claimed to be part of Whitebeard’s crew. Should he trust him? Shanks had said Whitebeard was good, but that was assuming this man wasn’t lying. It might be safer to take off and watch from a distance for a while. One problem, though. One very big, very real problem.

_“…I think some of the injuries on your arm may be getting infected.”_

Ace didn’t have the medical experience or knowledge to deal with something like that by himself. Yeah the injuries might not be infected yet, but if he stayed out here in a tropical jungle where bacteria grew like weeds, he was pretty much guaranteed to get some kind of horrendous disease that would, in all likelihood, kill him. Trust this man or die. But would this man bring him to a fate worse than death? He could always run later, if he turned out to be lying. He’d rather die than go back to that hell. He had to choose now, though. Ace took a deep breath.

“All right. I’m coming.”

* * *

 

Once they neared the beach, Ace was able to see through the trees to the sea beyond. He saw the ship bobbing out on the waves and felt more of his tension dissipate. It wasn’t Hare’s ship. Not even remotely similar to it. The whale figurehead and size of the ship disproved it, and seeing the flag flying on the mast further eased and convinced Ace. They really were pirates. Ace found it a touch ironic that he felt safer among criminals wanted for murder, theft, pillaging, and so on than he did among the people designated by the populace to protect the innocents of the world.

He didn’t know what it was about this ‘Thatch’ that had led him here, but something in his mind, something indefinite and not well-formed enough to be coherent told him that Thatch was trustable. That he wouldn’t do any harm. Ace tried to stay on the side of skepticism, but he found his tension and suspicion slowly ebbing away as time passed with Thatch. He just seemed…familiar.

So when Thatch asked Ace if Ace had some way of getting the two of them back onto the ship without being sighted by the crew, Ace found himself agreeing and coming up with a plan despite the rational side of his brain asking him if he actually wanted to go aboard the ship. That subliminal, inherent part of him convinced him Thatch was only doing what he needed to and what would ultimately be better for Ace in the end, and Ace instinctively responded to that side of his mind before the processing side could even catch up.

The final nail in the coffin of Ace’s suspicions about Thatch came in the form of a question.

“Ace, what happened to your hands?” Thatch was looking at the bandaging on Ace’s hands like he was genuinely confused at seeing it there in a reaction so natural Ace seriously doubted even the best of actors could have done it falsely. _…If he’d been one of Hare’s marines he’d have known._ All the same, the rational side of Ace’s mind still held sway and deemed caution still necessary. _Lie. It’s not hard. If he knows how injured you are he could take advantage of it._ He may subliminally trust Thatch, but that didn’t mean he was going to play with an entirely open hand. Ace tried to pass off nonchalance.

“Nothing. I got a bad rope burn a couple days ago. The skin is still pretty raw, so it’s better to keep it wrapped.” Thatch scrutinized Ace after that, and the intensity of his eyes had Ace fighting hard not to shrink back or flinch. He may trust Thatch subliminally, but ingrained instinct trumped subliminal thought. The intensity left Thatch’s eyes as he accepted the lie, and Ace stepped out of the subtle running stance he’d been in before.

Getting onboard the ship had been almost stupidly easy after that. Nobody really seemed to be watching it, and they walked the deck without ever being stopped by anyone. Hell, they didn’t even _see_ anyone. Ace wondered at the cloak Thatch had had him put on, but it actually worked to his benefit. This way he could see this ‘captain’ before the captain could see him. If it was Hare or some other marine, Ace could be gone before his face was ever seen. If he had to, he thought he might be able to kill Thatch in a surprise attack on his way out, thereby ridding any witnesses to his appearance on the ship or island. He didn’t _want_ to have to kill Thatch, though. He may not trust him, at least not consciously, but he _seemed_ like a decent enough guy. It all hinged on whether Thatch had lied or not.

On the boat ride over to the ship, Thatch had seemed…perceptive. When he and Ace had spoken, Thatch had seemed to somehow pick up on Ace’s current state of being. It unsettled Ace. He hoped he wasn’t projecting a message of, ‘hey, I’m injured and vulnerable! Please come kill me!’ to the world, but based on how easily Thatch had seemingly picked up on it, Ace was beginning to wonder.

 _“What happened to you?”_ The words continued to ring through Ace’s head. Was he really being that obvious? Thatch had been reaching out as if he wanted to comfort Ace, and his voice had been quiet. It seemed…almost out of place on a man whose face seemed built to smile. But Ace wasn’t about to spill his life’s story to a guy he barely knew. He had no reason to trust Thatch, and until such a time that he did, he would continue not to.

When they stopped outside a door, Ace looked at Thatch questioningly. Thus far, Thatch never seemed to hesitate about anything. That tension, that almost nervousness that Ace had seen in the jungle seemed to have returned to Thatch, and he seemed to be considering what to do. _This is his captain, right? Why is he hesitating now?_ Ace felt tension beginning to rise in him. If this really was a marine, he wanted to know now while there was no one on the ship and he had the best chance of escape. But he had to play along, not let Thatch know what he was suspecting.

“Is this the door to ‘Whitebeard’s room?” Thatch nodded absently. “Then why are we standing out here? Let’s go in.” Thatch looked down at him in shock.

“No wait, don’t-“ But Ace had the door open and had already stepped through. He resisted the urge to audibly gasp.

 _…Well, they’re_ not _marines._ Whitebeard, for who else could he be, was enormous. The blond man beside him was dwarfed in comparison, as was Thatch. Ace felt their eyes settle on him and Thatch, but focused more on him. A moment of silence passed as they regarded Ace and as Thatch stood there, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Thatch…who is this? Where did you manage to pick up a kid on an abandoned island?” The blond one spoke, his voice a mix of annoyance and resignation that said he’d gone through worse many times over and knew he’d go through again. Ace was mildly annoyed. He was allowed no say in who he was? He didn’t like being talked about like he wasn’t there.

“Well y’see…this kid is-“ Thatch seemed even more nervous than before and Ace almost felt sympathetic. Almost. He was too annoyed to have that reaction, though. Didn’t anyone care that he was actually here? Ace crossed his arms in annoyance.

“I have a _name_ you know.” Whitebeard looked at him kindly, a warm, parental smile spreading on his face. It wasn’t patronizing in any way, and Ace liked that smile. It reminded him of his mother.

“What is it, child?” Ace, feeling somehow confident under that smile, didn’t hesitate to raise a hand and pull off the hood, speaking at the same time.

“It’s Ace. Portgas D. Ace.” Everyone in the room, time itself seemed to freeze. The blond openly blanched in shock, Thatch flinched as if he’d been struck, and Whitebeard’s smile faltered for a moment. Ace didn’t like the response and began to wonder if maybe he’d miscalculated, wondered if he should seize the moment and escape while he still had the chance. He remained indecisive, and the part of him that wanted to run screamed at him that he was wasting time as he remained standing there, unsure of what to do. The silence was broken when Whitebeard turned to look at Thatch, his smile now anything but warm and parental.

“… _Thatch._ ” Thatch seemed to shrink and visibly winced. He seemed to be attempting to actually melt into the floorboards, and with the will he was putting into it, Ace wouldn’t be surprised if he succeeded. He didn’t understand, though. Why did they have this reaction to him? They weren’t marines, that much was obvious, but as soon as he’d said his name they’d all reacted as if he’d just pulled his own head off.

“What? What’s the matter?” The blond turned his semi death-glare away from Thatch and approached Ace, smiling.

“Nothing. Oyaji just needs to have a nice little chat with Thatch.” He was herding Ace out of the room, steering him back out the door. Ace didn’t know him any more than he knew Thatch, less so, if possible, and he didn’t trust the man. However the tension in the room was tangible, and Ace wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when it finally exploded. He allowed himself to be shooed out of the room. “While he’s doing that, why don’t we find you something to eat?” Ace couldn’t deny the fact that he was hungry. Back home it was probably lunchtime. _I hope someone went to take care of Luffy…everyone back home is probably in a panic._

They soon arrived at the galley, and despite Ace’s initial hesitation, when he saw the blond taste the contents of a pot before serving him a bowl of what looked like beef stew, Ace felt he could assume it wasn’t poisoned or drugged. He ate quietly, and the man sitting across from him studied him unobtrusively. He had a way of being there without really…being there. Ace couldn’t quite put his finger on how to describe it. He just…kind of faded into the background. It was like he so completely belonged on this ship that he was just another piece of it, something constant, something that was as solid and permanent as the ship around him.

“How did you get here?” Ace looked up from his soup and met the tired-looking gaze of the man in front of him. Something about him compelled honesty from Ace. Ace just…couldn’t imagine lying to him.

“I…I don’t know. I was in East Blue this morning, on the East Wind,” The words slipped out before Ace could stop them and Ace wanted them back, but knew it was too late. _Damn this man and damn his…whatever it is._ Ace couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the soup _had_ been drugged. It wasn’t like him to slip like that in front of someone he didn’t trust. “When suddenly I saw a bright flash of light and I wake up next to some stone tablet with Thatch speaking to me.” The blond blinked.

“The East Wind? Isn’t that Red Haired Shanks’ ship?” Ace nodded somewhat reluctantly, unwilling to let anything more slip than he already had. “What were you doing there?” Ace didn’t reply, not trusting himself to speak without slipping again. The blond seemed curious, but he didn’t ask further. After a moment, Ace spoke again.

“Where are we exactly? Thatch said we were in the Grand Line, but then how did I end up here?” The blond looked an equal measure of puzzled and concerned.

“We are on the Grand Line, a ways from Shabondy Archipelago. As to how you got here, I don’t really know.” Ace didn’t have a response for that, and for a while they sat in silence. When Ace finally spoke again, it was on a different topic.

“What’s your name?” The blond blinked, as if surprised.

“Wait, you don’t-“ He cut himself off and seemed to mentally amend his statement. “…I didn’t tell you my name?” Ace shook his head. “My name’s Marco.” Ace let the name roll around in his head.

 _Marco. I know that name too. I think Shanks mentioned him as well…_ Ace tried to remember, but couldn’t quite pull back the information. He had to settle for what he could recall.

“Shanks spoke of you.” This ‘Marco’ already knew he’d been on Shanks’ ship thanks to Ace’s oh-so-talented response earlier, so there was no point in hiding the fact that he knew him. Marco rolled his eyes, seeming a touch annoyed.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Ace quirked an eyebrow.

“Why not? You guys friends?” Marco snorted.

“…Not exactly.” Ace gave him a questioning look, and Marco elaborated. “Every time he comes to the ship to speak with Oyaji he’s always asking me to join his crew. After the first few dozen times it’s gotten a bit annoying.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to join Shanks’ crew?” Marco smiled at Ace.

“Because I belong here. This is where I’m meant to be. I just wish the guy would give it a rest already.” Ace couldn’t help being a bit puzzled.

“Why’s he so interested in you?” Marco shrugged.

“Who can say for sure? My guess is he’s just curious about my devil fruit.” Ace blinked.

“You’ve eaten a devil fruit?” Marco nodded.

“Yup. Zoan type. Phoenix model.” Ace could feel himself really getting interested.

“Phoenix? So it’s a mythical, then? What does it do?”

“Well, for one thing I can, as you may have guessed, transform into a phoenix. After years of practice I can also manage partial transformations too. The biggest thing it does for me, though, is it allows me to recover instantly from any injury. Saved my skin on more occasions than one.”

“ _Any_ injury?” Ace couldn’t help it. He was fascinated. Marco nodded again.

“Yup. Bullets, swords, knives, spears, cannonballs, anything. Just about impregnable.” Ace’s brows furrowed at that.

“Your devil fruit ability is useful, yes, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s impregnable.” Marco quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh really? And how do you figure that.” Ace leaned forward almost smugly.

“Seastone can still hurt you. Even one counterexample disproves a statement.”

“But I can recover instantly.”

“Only if the seastone is removed. Suppose someone were able to make seastone bullets. You’d be like a turkey on thanksgiving. Or suppose someone made knives of swords with seastone and you were stabbed. As long as the weapon wasn’t removed, you’d be nearly powerless. That’s a rather gaping weakness, wouldn’t you say?”

“Seastone is rare and expensive. There aren’t exactly hordes of people armed with seastone weapons out there.”

“But we’re talking about the world government. They can juts commandeer stuff. And with a bounty like yours, hunters would pay the cash because your bounty would compensate them and they’d still make a large net profit.” Marco raised an amused eyebrow.

“So you’re saying my devil fruit isn’t useful?”

“No, it’s plenty useful, it’s just imperfect. It’s beyond helpful in a myriad of situations, it’s just that you should prepare for the ones where it’s not. You have to _think_ Marco.” Ace was gesturing now to emphasize his point. “If one marine happens to have a seastone weapon or a weird devil fruit and catches you off guard, you’re screwed.” Marco huffed indignantly.

“As if some pansy-“ Ace cut him off.

“And suppose he didn’t kill you. Then you’d have a hostage situation and your whole crew is at risk. I haven’t known you guys for very long, but your captain at least seems like he’d be more than willing to sacrifice himself for even one of you guys.” Ace hadn’t realized he’d drawn this conclusion, but once it passed his lips he knew he believed it. “Would you really want there to be even the remotest chance of that happening?” Marco was looking at Ace seriously now. “You should at least train yourself in other kinds of combat, hand-to-hand, swordplay, knife fighting. Even a basic understanding could be enough to save one of your friend’s lives. I can’t make the choice for you, but if I were in your shoes that’s what I would do.” Ace could hear Sabo’s screams in his mind, felt his heart shatter all over again. Ace felt words forming and didn’t have time to stop them. “Nothing in this entire world is worse than helplessness.” Marco was looking at Ace in concern and opened his mouth to speak, but Thatch walked in, unintentionally saving Ace from questions Ace didn’t want to answer.

“…I just interrupted something important, didn’t I?” Marco laughed.

“Not really. What’s up?” Thatch seemed to hesitate for another moment, feeling as if he _had_ interrupted, but then spoke. It was too late for anything else.

“Oyaji wants to see you.” He turned to Ace. “And he wants me to show you around the ship. Is that alright with you?” Ace nodded and stood, following Thatch out of the galley.

 

* * *

 

            The tour of the ship lasted quite a while, Ace doing his best to keep a map of the place in his head. If he needed to make a quick exit later, he wanted to know which way to run. The part of his mind saying those things was growing dimmer and dimmer, though, and Ace found himself occasionally getting more involved in the stories Thatch was telling about the ship than the map he was drawing in his head.

            Ace glanced to the left, expecting to see a corridor based on his mental map. He felt vague annoyance that there wasn’t a corridor there, as it meant he probably had this entire level of the ship entirely wrong, but that annoyance was quelled by curiosity. _Is that…?_ Ace approached the wall, studying it closer.

“What is it?” Ace raised a hand and traced his finger over the board.

“So. Who on the crew speaks Armenian?” Ace could feel Thatch’s eyes on his back.

“What do you mean?” Thatch’s voice was confused. Ace resisted the urge to roll his eyes and pointed at the characters.

“Here. There’s Armenian written on the wood.” Thatch looked closer, but Ace could tell he was looking in the wrong place.

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

“No, here.” Ace circled a smaller area with his finger. He felt his confusion growing. “It’s disguised to blend in with the grain of the wood.” Thatch was silent for a moment, and Ace got the feeling he didn’t see it.

“What’s it say?” Ace leaned in a little closer. It was hard to tell where Armenian ended and wood grain began.

“It says ‘door.’” Ace reached a hand up and pressed it against the wall. He felt the mechanism give under his hand and watched as the door beside the switch swung in, as if on a hinge. Ace took in the room on the other side of the door. The strange plants, the window, the desk and bed. Ace felt his eyes widen. It couldn’t be.

That shorthaired black cat on the bed _couldn’t_ be Serpent.

The cat seemed to have been roused from a nap by their entry, and stood with a stretch and a yawn. “What do you _want_ -“ Ace felt his surprise grow even more. Her voice was the same. It…was this really Serpent?

_Serpent! Is that you? What the hell’s going on? Where are we?_

_Shush. I don’t know what’s going on. Play along with me until we figure something out, okay? These guys don’t seem to know we’re related, so pretend you don’t know me, okay?_ Her eyes landed on Ace, and she faked a pause before turning to Thatch, seemingly annoyed. “What did you do?” Thatch raised his hands placatingly.

“Nothing! I swear!” _Wait, these guys know you?_ Serpent rolled her eyes at Thatch. Ace was the next to speak. He faked a look of complete fascination.

“How are you talking?” _Yes, Ace, these guys know me. I’ve been here longer than you, so we had our greetings before you got onboard the ship. They think I’m interesting and not really a threat, so I’ve been allowed free reign on the ship._ She smiled at Ace.

“It’s a secret. Now, why don’t we have introductions?” She padded over and sat directly in front of Ace, looking up at him. “My name is Serpent. I live on this ship.” _Follow along. I know it’s not true, but for now just go with it, okay?_ _These guys think I’m one of them now._ “I suppose you could say I’m a member of this crew, though their only official pet is the dog, Stephan.” Ace kneeled down in front of her.

“Your name is a little ironic for a cat, don’t you think?” Serpent nodded and seemed to shrug before looking right into Ace’s eyes.

“It’s very rare that we’re allowed to choose our own names, even though they’re such a huge part of us. It’ a little unfair, no?” _Laying it on thick, aren’t you, Serpent? And you did get to choose your own name._ Serpent could feel Ace’s amusement as he faked a look of deep understanding.

“Yes, I agree. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Ace.” _Okay, now that Thatch thinks we’re all hunky dory can we talk a little more openly?_ Thatch was looking between the two, seemingly pleased.

“I was planning on showing this to you last, but you can look around now. This is the room Oyaji wants you to use while you stay with us. Is it suitable?” Ace nodded and stepped through the doorway, looking around at the furniture and the plants. Ace noticed one in particular he’d seen in a botany book.

“Who stays here most of the time?” Thatch blinked in surprise.

“What?” Ace gestured to the plant.

“That’s a rare hybrid of jungle fireweed. If it isn’t watered every day at the same time it dies in less than a week. So,” He turned to look at Thatch. “Who usually lives in this room?” Thatch seemed at a loss for words and Ace wondered at that. _Whatever he’s about to say is a lie._

“We had a botanist who was staying with us for quite some time. He was very introverted, to the point where he actually disguised the door to his room. He left us at the last island we passed. Left all his plants here. No idea why. He was kind of a weird guy, but nice enough. He made me a door so I could get in here on my own.” She paused. “Actually, the mechanism’s been jammed for a while, do you think you can fix it?” Ace looked at Serpent, trying not to let his utter confusion show on his face.

 _Serpent? What the hell is going on? How long have you been here?_ Serpent didn’t respond, not even offering an emotional response or any sign that she had heard at all. Ace waited for a moment, then realized he needed to verbally respond before Thatch got weirded out.

“Yeah, probably. If I had the right tools, that is.” He looked around the room. _Serpent?_ “Where’s the mechanism?” Serpent flicked her tail in the direction of the door. _Serpent I know you can hear me. Are you hiding something from me?_ Ace walked over and crouched by the smaller door.

_Ace, just trust me okay?_

_…Okay._

* * *

 

The rest of the evening was spent fixing the door until Thatch came and got him for dinner. When he walked into the galley he caught people looking at him, some more subtly than others. It set him on edge, but he didn’t let it show. He didn’t like being watched, _inspected_ , that closely. As the meal progressed, the looks slowly tapered off, people becoming more concerned with their food. Well…all except for one.

 _Serpent, who’s the guy that won’t stop glaring at me?_ He felt Serpent’s consciousness slip into his side of their mind and analyze some of the data coming from his senses. She could see, hear, feel, taste, and smell everything he could when she did this, and he could do it to her too. She looked through his eyes at the person he was looking at. Both knew they could do it, but out of a desire for privacy, both decided they wouldn’t go into the other’s mind space unless explicitly invited.

 _Oh. That’s Jericho. He’s an asshole. Like,_ MAJOR _asshole. Don’t piss him off, okay?_ She took in the look he was directing at Ace. _…Might be a bit late, though._

Ace watched him stand and take his dishes to the kitchen before heading towards the door. He was taking a route that would lead him right past the table Ace was sitting at, and Ace felt his annoyance growing. _If he’s so pissed at me, why doesn’t he, oh I don’t know, walk somewhere_ else _?_ He could feel Serpent growing a little uneasy.

_Ace…just…don’t, okay? Just let him walk by. Don’t say anything. Don’t provoke him._

_…_

_Ace don’t!_

_…We’ll see._

As Jericho walked by Ace he paused, looking down at him in open dislike. Ace met his gaze defiantly. He liked anger. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything but fear when confronted with something acting negatively towards him, but this guy…he just pissed Ace off. That anger was exhilarating and refreshing and emboldening, and Ace embraced it.

“What’re you looking at?” Ace looked him up and down and replied with cold disinterest.

“Nothing much.” Jericho’s scowl deepened.

“You little bitch!” He raised his hand back in preparation to strike Ace, and suddenly Ace wasn’t seeing the galley anymore. He saw a cold, dark room, lit only by the lamp Hare had brought down with him. Blind terror gripped his heart in steel. He was back. Ace felt the blow land hard on the side of his face and tasted blood, hearing an unhealthy crack come from his jaw. A hand grabbed him around the throat and raised him off his feet, suffocating him. Just as his vision started going dark, the hand threw him across the room and he felt his head collide hard with the wall, blood beginning to run down his face-

“Ace! Ace, are you alright?” Ace blinked several times and the memory faded, replaced by the concerned face of Marco. Behind him, Thatch had Jericho pinned against a wall. Ace raised a hand to his head. There was no injury, no blood. His hand trailed down his face to his mouth to find no split lip or fractured jaw. He took a deep breath. _Relax. You’re fine. All you’re doing is causing a scene. Raising questions._ Ace rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“I’m fine, Marco. I’m fine.” Marco continued to study Ace worriedly, but Ace ignored him pointedly, showing he didn’t want to answer any questions. Behind Marco, Thatch was practically shouting at Jericho.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Thatch’s face was a mask of rage. Jericho made an effort of speaking, but thatch had his face shoved against the wall so hard his speech came out muffled and inarticulate. “What was that? I couldn’t quite _hear_ you, you crazy son of a bitch.” Again Jericho tried to speak. Thatch’s anger didn’t fade.

“Don’t even fucking _try_ to justify yourself. You attacked an unarmed child, unprovoked. Is that the kind of thing bastards like you _do_ in their free time?” Thatch was _pissed_. Ace was a little surprised he hadn’t dislocated Jericho’s shoulder yet, based on the pressure he was putting on the socket. His angry tirade continued and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. After a moment, Marco turned back to Ace, speaking gently.

“You sure you’re alright? Thatch kept him from actually hitting you, but…” Marco trailed off, looking Ace in the eye, letting the sentence finish itself. Both turned to look up as Whitebeard approached. Thatch didn’t stop his angry rant, and Whitebeard waited for him to stop before he spoke. When he did, his voice was hard and dark and held a note of command that spoke of the impossibility of disobedience.

“Jericho. My room. Now.” Whitebeard’s face was as dark as Thatch’s if not darker. Thatch, hearing the command, half-threw Jericho in the direction of the door. Jericho stumbled a few steps, then recovered, walking with as much dignity as he could manage towards the door. Thatch approached Ace and knelt, his voice and face infinitely kinder than when he had been speaking to Jericho.

“Sorry about that, Ace. Jericho is…a rather disagreeable person.” Ace gave a small laugh trying to hide the still fading terror.

“I seem to remember you using differend adjectives to describe him.” Thatch scratched the back f his head in embarrassent.

“Yeah…sorry about that too. On the upside, I guess you learned some new words today.” Ace shrugged, still smiling.

“Meh, I’ve heard better.” _If Hare could call me nine different kinds of bastard in two minutes, I don’t think there’s much you can teach me about vulgarity of language._ Thatch raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” Ace forced a smirk.

“Yes. You see, you were rather uncreative. You should try swearing in different languages, as a starter. Also, try to come up with insults that don’t involve profanity, they’re more effective. People are used to getting sworn at, but if you call someone, for example, a canker-toothed mole cricket, you not only be calling them one of the ugliest things _I’ve_ ever seen, it’ll take them a while to figure out what the heck you’re talking about, which establishes you as more intelligent. See? Double whammie.” Thatch laughed and Ace willed more of the tension to leave his shoulders.

“I guess you’re right.” He stood, and Ace and Marco followed suit. “Well, on that note, I think you should be heading off to bed now.” Ace was herded for the second time that day and led back to the room that had been allotted him. Before leaving, both bid him goodnight and Ace replied in kind before shutting the door. Once he was alone, the smile faded from his face. A shudder passed up his spine, thinking of the flashback in the galley. He swallowed and tried to force himself to calm down. He felt a gentle pressure against his legs and looked down to see Serpent rubbing herself against his calves comfortingly.

_…Is there an ‘I told you so’ on the way?_

_Wouldn’t dream of it._

He smiled down at her and stroked her along her spine. She purred warmly in response. Ace’s smile returned and he turned around and began getting ready for bed. Once he was finished, he blew out the candle on the desk and climbed under the covers. Serpent had remained pressed against him for the whole process, but now turned in preparation to leave.

“Serpent…wait.” Ace’s voice was quiet. He sounded more like a child than he had for the entire time since he’d been shrunk. He was lying on his side, face turned towards the door. “Can you…Can you stay until I fall asleep? Please?” His voice was weak, tremulous. Serpent looked up at him with sympathy and jumped up onto the bed, curling up in the curve of his body, radiating the comforting warmth of life. She tried to be as soothing as possible.

“I will be here. For as long as you need me.” Ace curled tighter around her so that his body was pressing against hers. He was trembling lightly. “Ace, remember, you’re not alone, you’re never alone.” Ace’s voice came out muffled.

“I’m no longer naïve enough to believe in a God. God died with my innocence. I think that was sometime after hope and memory’s passing. Now there’s just dissolution and pain, but you can’t build a life out of those. What am I supposed to do, Serpent, when I’ve forgotten how to live?” Serpent was silent. There was no answer she could give. She closed her eyes in sadness. Ace put his arms around her gently.

“Serpent…at least tell me this. With everything I’ve endured, e verything I’ve lost…” Serpent might have felt a tear dampen her fur, and Ace’s grip tightened. “Just…Just tell me it’s worth it. Tell me it’s worth living though this, that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t just another shade of grey…” Ace’s voice was weak. A suppressed sob shuddered through him. “Please…just make me believe I’m still human.”

Serpent lay there with Ace until he fell asleep, and remained there long after that. If all she could do to help Ace was lay next to him and comfort him while he slept, that was what she was going to do. Forever. She’d stay there as long as Ace wanted her there.

The night seemed to be going well until about one in the morning, where Ace shot up from another nightmare-memory, rehashing Gabriel’s death but _worse._ Everything was getting worse about the nightmares. They were becoming more and more surreal, still all based around Ace’s memories of Hare, but now always twisted around and disjointed from reality in that chilling way dreams had. And that wasn’t all.

Wonderland kept showing up in Ace’s dreams.

It kept getting worse and worse, though. If he’d thought it was bad when it was first created, it was getting worse. _It’s Mr. Savage. He’s breaking everything down._ Mr. Savage was a corrosive blight, twisting images Ace had made to be comforting into something spawned from hell itself. Aboard Shanks’ ship he’d tried to create new things to replace those twisted, broken dreams, to fill Wonderland with the beauty it had had before, but those just rotted away too, faster than the previous ones. It scared the shit out of Ace, and he’d thought that maybe by locking Wonderland, by vowing to never go back to it or interact with it again, he could shut himself out of it. Keep himself from seeing the death of his dream. But the more he consciously ignored them, the more his subconscious seemed to let them in.

Ace felt like his mind was tearing itself apart.

Ace had scrambled to get out the door, trying to get back up onto deck, but he couldn’t find the switch for the door. In desperation he turned to the widow, throwing it wide. Very carefully, and with multiple close calls, Ace was actually able to climb from the window up to the deck and collapsed against the railing, catching his breath and waiting for the sea air, as it always did, to chase away his most recent bout of nightly horror.

When Marco found him, Ace didn’t even recognize him at first. All he could see was a stranger, someone he didn’t know, someone who was going to _hurt_ him, and Ace initially rejected him, shying away, flinching back. Marco responded with more patience than Ace expected, and eventually he was able to calm down enough to accept Marco’s presence and, finally, his touch. Ace clung to Marco as he’d clung to Shanks, hoping beyond hope that he wasn’t making a mistake, that he wasn’t going to end up worse off for it.

He needed something real, alive, something that cared to remind him why he’d left Wonderland.

And then he’d uttered those words for the second time. Because he needed _help_. “Something’s breaking, Marco. Something really important. And I can’t…I can’t fix it…I don’t know how…” He’d trailed off, unable to explain himself, and Marco had only clung to him tighter, telling him everything was okay. _But it’s not!_ Part of Ace’s mind wanted to scream the words. _Can’t you see the cracks at the edge of seeing?! They’re going to SWALLOW ME._ Ace shook his head, forcing himself to calm down. He was being ridiculous. Imagining things. If he calmed down this would all go away. All of it. And then it would be better and nothing would be broken. He just needed to ignore it. _Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it._

He dozed off at some point, mentally chanting this ongoing mantra. When he woke he was back in his room, sunlight coming through the window. Marco was nowhere to be found, and Serpent lightly scolded him for practically giving the man a panic attack. Ace just nodded and took it. He knew he’d scared Marco the day before, and the only way to make I up to him was to convince him everything was okay now. So that’s what Ace would do.

The day passed without incident. Ace spent the majority of his time drawing different pictures and scenes from around the Moby Dick. He followed either Marco or Thatch around all day, unsure as he was of where he could go without being in the way. Dinner rolled around and Ace was still drawing, feeling more alive than he had since he’d arrived. All around him were faces in various positions of joy. Who could frown, seeing all these smiles?

Life seemed worth living with all these smiles around him.

He was enjoying himself, watching the people around him be happy and trying to capture that happiness on paper. He’d just started another picture, this one of the galley as a whole, the main focus being Whitebeard laughing, when everything around Ace died.

Edward. Hare.

The man Shanks had convinced Ace, the man Ace had convinced himself, was dead.

He too seemed surprised to see Ace, but his face didn’t take long to morph into that painfully familiar smile, that crocodile grin. Ace felt the entire world around him falling to pieces. Hare was here. None of the people around him were attacking him or responding in any way as if he wasn’t entirely welcome there. Ace took a stunned step back, feeling completely, utterly betrayed.

Marco’s hand landed gently on Ace’s shoulder and Ace spun instantly, throwing Marco’s hand off and staring up at him with an expression that displayed all the hurt he felt.

“You’re with _him?_ All of you…” He turned back to Hare, fear nearly consuming him, and saw Hare taking a step closer. Ace felt terror racing up his spine. “Oh God…” Hare was drawing closer, step by meticulous step. Ace stumbled backwards a few steps before turning and running at a dead sprint for the door. He heard Marco call after him but disregarded it. Thatch grabbed his shoulder, forcing Ace to come to a temporary stop.

“Ace, what’s wrong?” Ace tore his shoulder violently out of Thatch’s grasp, ignoring the pain that ignited in the lashes on his back as he did so. He resumed his dash for the door, throwing himself through it faster than he thought possible. He was almost certain the injury on his shoulder had opened again, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting away, escaping.

Ace ran down the hallway, unsure of his exact location or where exactly he was going to do. They were on a ship. There weren’t exactly a ton of places to go. Ace tripped and fell hard on his shoulder, crying out as the already reopened injury flared with pain again. _I need to get rid of this shirt. Blood on a white shirt makes a pretty obvious target._ For the time being, Ace reached up, grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to at least slow the bleeding. _I’ll need bandages too._ Ace stopped outside a randomly selected door and pressed his ear against it, listening for movement within. Hearing none, he pushed the door open, giving the room he was in a cursory glance.

The shipwright’s workshop was fairly well organized, building materials, tools, and designs at least separated from each other. Ace approached what seemed to be the desk used for the storage of designs. Ace’s eyes caught on the large piece of paper on the very top of the stack. Ace’s eyes widened. _Jackpot._

The blueprints for the ship would come in very handy.

Ace headed back out into the hallway, winding through the passages according to the blueprints and arriving at ‘his’ room in no time. He opened the door, pushing inside. He rifled through the things the botanist had left in the room, searching for something he could put to use. Eventually he found what must have been a three-quarter sleeve shirt for the adult and went to work with the knife on the underside of his arm, cutting the shirt shorter. Once he deemed it the best it was going to be, he pulled off his own shirt and tied it as tight as he could around his still sluggishly bleeding shoulder. He could have done better with legit bandages, but that was his next stop.

He carried the other shirt with him as he ran towards the infirmary. He heard people beginning to move around the ship on the floors above and below him and knew he was just about out of time.

When a group of almost panicked people had come around a corner unexpectedly, Ace had had to throw himself into a random room to avoid being sighted. It was way, _way_ too close of a call, and he listened anxiously as they passed down the hallway by the door he’d thrown himself through.

“…Did anyone hear that?” A woman’s voice. The door between him and the speaker muffled the sound, but Ace could still hear the words.

“What was it?” That was a male voice, deeper.

“I thought I heard a door slam…” The woman again.

“Selma, there are doors being slammed all over the ship. People aren’t exactly being thoughtful of the _doors_ right now.”

“No, no, no, it sounded nearby.” They drew closer to the door Ace was hidden behind and he began looking around desperately. There was nowhere to hide. This was someone’s office, as well as overflow storage, barren of all but a ceiling fan, a desk, a chair, and a few stacks of crates up against the wall. There was no gap for Ace to squeeze through and hide between them and the wall, and everything would be completely visible if those people came through the door. Ace looked around desperately, hearing the voices and footsteps growing closer. Ace’s eyes caught on something and stuck.

The vent.

“…I’m telling you, it sounded like it came from in here.” Ace yanked the grate off the wall and analyzed the space behind. He might just fit.

The people were practically outside the door.

Ace wriggled into the tiny, dark space, pausing only to grab a lighter off the desk behind him. _Thank God for smokers._

He had only just managed to squeeze inside and pull the grate behind him when the door opened.

“I don’t care what you say, Joshua, I’m checking this damn room.” Ace watched anxiously, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe, as the woman walked around the room, checking under the desk  and peeking about the crates, looking for any place a ten-year-old boy might hide. A may stood by the doorway, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time! We don’t know where Ace is, Selma, and wasting time on every little sound you hear only puts us further behind him. Thatch said he thought Ace was bleeding, and if that’s true I don’t want to waste any time finding him.” The woman seemed to grow annoyed herself.

“Fine! And what if he _had_ been in here, hmm? You would have had us walk right by.”

“But he’s not.”

“So let’s keep looking and not point fingers uselessly.” That got the man to shut up, and they headed back out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind them. Ace allowed himself to exhale the breath he’d been holding. He’d done it. They hadn’t found him.

Ace looked down the vent, trying to see where it led. Darkness stretched in front of him, seemingly endless. Ace took a deep breath and pulled out the blueprints and lighter. A few tries had the lighter burning, and Ace studied the diagram in front of him. Apparently these vents ran all over the ship, all connected to each other. Ace traced a finger along the path he’d have to take to get to his intended destination. Ace took a deep breath and set off down the dark, tight space.

Getting to the infirmary went much smoother than Ace expected. Once he adapted the right system, he was able to crawl quite efficiently through the vents that served as his passageways. As he crawled through the walls he could occasionally hear people speaking when they were near the grates that served as doors for him. The entire crew of the ship was looking for him, and they were apparently getting desperate.

But they had no idea where he was now.

That was all that mattered to Ace, and he was comforted in the knowledge that they hadn’t figured it out. And even if they did, it’s not like they could fit in here. Even the small one…Haruta, was it? Wouldn’t be able to get inside.

At the infirmary, Ace had to wait behind the grate for a few minutes while the doctor, the same woman he’d seen before, searched the room. She came up with nothing, and left. Ace waited a moment after the door had clicked shut before pushing the grate off the wall and crawling out. It seemed bright in the infirmary in comparison with the quiet dark of the vents. Ace didn’t waste any time rifling through the cabinets and shelves and soon came up with what he’d need.

He hurriedly untied the now bloodstained shirt from his shoulder, and a few minutes of effort had his shoulder well and tightly wrapped in fresh bandaging. Ace was pretty sure if someone else had done it it could have been better, but he’d done his best and thought it tight enough to stop the bleeding. He didn’t hesitate to throw the bloody shirt out the window, and pulled on the new one in its place. Thanks to the bandaging this one wouldn’t get any blood on it now, at least.

Ace was careful to return the roll of bandages to the same place he’d found it before and had just shut the cabinet door when he heard movement outside. Ace’s head snapped in the direction of the door, alarm widening his eyes. _Oh shit._ Ace instantly darted to the vent, squirming back inside and pulling the grate closed behind him. He looked back out into the infirmary, waiting to see what new information he could gain from whoever was about to come in.

Something on the table was reflecting light and it caught Ace’s eyes. Once he discovered what it was, he wanted to slap himself. _Damn it. Damn it. Don’t find it, please._

He’d left the scissors out on the table.

The doctor, Selma, entered the infirmary and browsed around, seemingly looking for something. Her frantic casing of the cabinets stopped when her eyes caught on the table. More specifically on the scissors. She picked them up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Her face quickly morphed into one of shock and recognition, and she cased the room again, calling Ace’s name. Ace, of course, didn’t respond, was too busy mentally beating himself with a stick. She gave up after searching the infirmary top to bottom, but she still looked amazed and…relieved. She left the room again, heading off at a fast jog.

Once she was gone and Ace was sure nobody else was coming he pulled back from the grate, heading back into the depths of the vents.

* * *

 

Ace wasn’t sure how long he spent just exploring the vents, only sure that he’d come out for vital necessities. He came to like the tight, dark space, and the rats that he heard scampering around were very polite, either very afraid of the fire or willing to share their abode with this newcomer. Ace felt he could have stayed in there forever. But the world, as ever, seemed unhappy with leaving Ace with something he enjoyed and it wasn’t long before it ousted him back out into discomfort, pain, and terror.

The lighter ran out of fluid.

Ace stared at it as the fire slowly began shrinking. For a moment, he couldn’t comprehend it. Once his mind caught up, though, he made a mad dash for an exit, any exit. There was one close by, and it didn’t take him long to reach it. He left the used up lighter behind when it was completely dead, and knew he’d have to emerge in order to find a new light source.

As with the time he’d emerged in the infirmary, he sat by the grate for quite some time, slowing his breathing so that it was inaudible and waiting to see if there was anyone nearby. He must have waited for 10 minutes, and hearing nothing he pushed at the grate, starting his now-practiced process of writhing out.

Two hands grabbed Ace by the torso and pulled him out of the vent, catching him completely off guard. A surprised, terrified scream tried to jump out his throat, but Ace held it back. No point in attracting even _more_ attention.

“Ace! We found you! Thank goodness you’re-“ Ace flailed and writhed in the man’s grip, and one of his hands collided with the man’s face. He squirmed so he was facing the man directly and used one hand to grab a fistful of the man’s hair, dragging his head back, his other hand grabbing one of the man’s thumbs and pulling it back at a painful angle, enticing the man to let him go. The man gave a shout of mingled surprise and pain, and Ace was free. He’d just turned to run when he felt another set of hands, different than the ones from before, grab him.

“Ace, it’s okay! We’re not going to-“ Ace spun and kicked the man hard in the knee. He too cried out in pain, and seemed to sag, almost falling. Ace turned to run again, but the man reached for him, this time grabbing his ankle. Ace took a dive, landing hard on the wooden floor. Ace looked at the man that had grabbed his ankle and kicked him full in the face, trying to dislodge him. The man hung on grimly, blood streaming down his face from an obviously broken nose, and he reached out and caught Ace’s other ankle.

Ace sat up, meaning to take the offensive with his hands and get the man to let him go, but the first man was back in action, grabbing Ace’s wrists and holding them above his head.

And Ace wasn’t in the hallway anymore.

He was back, back in his own personal hell, being pinned to the floor, Hare approaching, rod of glowing iron in his hand, crowd of horrible, disgusting men behind him, laughing or smirking lewdly. Ace writhed and strained for all he was worth. He needed to get away, he couldn’t go through this again, he just _couldn’t do it._

“Let me go!” That crowd was closing in around him, but there were _more_ of them, and Ace couldn’t get away. The two holding him were much too strong for him, and there was nowhere to hide from what he was about to go through, no Wonderland to retreat to. He’d do anything. He’d rather they do anything to him, anything at all. Anything but _that._ He could feel tears of desperation and terror beginning to rise in his eyes.

“JUST KILL ME!” The whole crowd seemed to freeze and Ace was able to pull himself free of the men formerly holding him. He was instantly on his feet, bolting down the hallway. It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin to pursue, and Ace felt panic leap in his chest. He ran as fast as he could, making a mad dash for somewhere, anywhere, anywhere away from this crowd and what they were going to do to him, what they’d already done and were prepared to do again.

And then he’d been cornered.

He’d been trapped at the bend in the hallway, a 90 degree turn. A fraction of the crowd had gone around and managed to head him off, trapping him at this corner. Ace felt his terror rising, but there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could go. Ace backed into the corner until he felt it pressing into his back and sunk slowly to the floor, breathing heavily out of both fear and exertion.

He was done.

The crowd closed in, and Ace felt a kind of dead resignation overtake him. He couldn’t do anything. Fighting back only hurt more. Running away only lengthened the torture. He couldn’t do anything. _…Can I just die, already? Can this just finally,_ finally _be over?_ Even death was denied him. He had no weapon, no way of ending his own life, and the approaching crowd was going to do far worse than kill him. Ace let his eyes close, not wanting to see the approaching torment.

There was no way out.

“But there _is_ a way out.” The familiar voice had Ace’s eyes snapping open. He looked up, eyes wide. Standing beside him was a man. Well, almost a man. Ace looked up at him in shock. He was wearing a dress suit with a tie. Long legs stretched up to a slim torso with elegant arms. One of the elegant gloved hands held a gold pocket-watch, and the almost-man was studying the time. With a last look he snapped it shut and stuck it in his breast pocket. The man bent down, and only then did it occur to Ace how monstrously tall he was. He must have been…what, eight feet? Nine? He extended one of those elegant hands towards Ace, the glove looking soft and perfectly, brilliantly white.

His head looked like that of a starved and diseased rabbit, but with more human features. The rabbit ears stuck off his head, bending in unnatural, rigid ways. An unnatural, inhumanly wide smile was on his face, the ends of it reaching up near his eyes. Festering, putrid sores splattered across his face, and between them clumps of unhealthy, stained white fur clung to his skin in mats. His eyes, though…they frightened Ace the most. They were Ace’s eyes, hazel-grey, just like every other being of Wonderland, but they were widened immensely, completely and utterly insane.

The White Rabbit looked exactly as he did in Ace’s nightmares.

“Let’s be off, Ace.” As he spoke, some of the sores opened, spewing pus and sludgy, brownish blood. “We’re behind schedule. Running very close to _late._ ”

Ace looked at the nightmarish image, then at the approaching pirates. Beneath the appearance it was still _his_ White Rabbit. The White Rabbit would never hurt him. The pirates? Ace didn’t want to even think what they’d do to him when they got there. Ace looked back to the White Rabbit and took the proffered hand. The unnatural grin, if possible, grew wider.

“Oh, come now, Ace. Give us a smile.” He pulled Ace to his feet and led him away. When they reached them, they simply walked through the pirates and out beyond them. The Rabbit turned his face towards Ace, still leading him by the hand. _“Everyone’s_ happy these days.”

Marco watched as the nightmarish White Rabbit led Ace away. Unlike before, though, he wasn’t compelled to follow. The Rabbit led Ace around a corner and down a hallway, out of Marco’s sight. Marco blinked and looked around. _Wait, what?_ The crowd from third division was gone, as was Ace’s physical body. The hall was dark, quiet. The colors seemed different, too. Altered slightly. It set Marco’s teeth on edge.

“You guys are in the present now. You’ve caught up with Ace’s memories.” Serpent’s voice had Marco jolting in surprise.

“We’re caught up?”

“Yes. Now you just have to go into Wonderland and find Ace.” Thatch was still staring after the Rabbit.

“…Based on that _thing_ , that’s going to be a hell of a lot easier said than done.”

“Then you better get started. Cause there’s no telling how long until those ‘ _things_ ’ manage to manifest aboard the real Moby Dick, and believe me when I say they can do some serious damage.” Marco took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Then it’s time to go. We follow the Rabbit.” Serpent’s voice interrupted his progress forward.

“Quick refresher on the rules, before you set out. Don’t eat. You’ll be stuck forever. Don’t piss anyone off. They’ll kill you before you can beg them not to.  Don’t let any individual inhabitant gain any sway over Ace or else they may be able to take over. Figure out who Mr. Savage is and stop him before he tears Ace apart. These aren’t exactly complicated, but they are very, _very_ essential to your time in Wonderland. Be careful.” Serpent took a deep breath. “…I can’t actually come with you beyond this point. No more advice, no more snarky comments. Seriously, guys, be careful. And find Ace soon!” Whitebeard smiled.

“Of course. As if we’d do anything else.” Thatch gave a grin and a thumbs up, and Marco just nodded.

Walking down the corridor and turning the corner the White Rabbit had led Ace down brought them to something unexpected.

A hole. In the floorboards.

Tacked to the wall behind it was a signpost, arrows pointing every direction imaginable. Written on the sign were three words, three words that were somehow chilling.

_Does it matter?_

Marco looked down the hole in the floorboards. It seemed to lead into a cave. He glanced back to the others.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Marco jumped down the hole, no hesitation in his movement or voice.

Inside it was cool as it was in almost all caves. Marco looked around, taking in his surroundings. Protruding from the walls were pieces of furniture, odd bits and bobs one might find around a house, everything from a bed to a dollhouse. Marco turned to look at the final wall, the one he assumed would lead him and the others out and into Wonderland beyond. He took an automatic, startled step back, small shout of surprise clearing his throat.

This wall was covered in paintings. All were in various stages of heinous destruction, some entirely shredded, others only torn in one or two places.

They were all portraits of the Rabbit.

They seemed to progress through all the levels of monstrosity the Rabbit had passed through, the most shredded and oldest being almost entirely tattered and progressing to the most recent, how he had looked when he led Ace away.

What had made Marco jump was the fact that the painting of the Rabbit was as photorealistic as any Marco had ever seen, and in the picture the Rabbit was hanging himself.

This particular image was hung from the ceiling, free of any wall. The rope that held it to the ceiling looked almost like it connected with the one in the painting, giving the impression that the real Rabbit was there, that he really had killed himself.

Beyond the horrific portrait gallery, there was a door, a door that would lead them out into this new, different Wonderland. But it wasn’t the door that caught Marco’s eyes so much as the words above it on the wall, carved into the very _stone_ as if in blind rage. Two of the letters, the L and the I, had been violently scratched out. Marco didn’t have to guess to know it was in the White Rabbit’s hand.

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, ALICE?_   
  



	35. Chapter 35

Marco was recovering from the surprise of the grisly portrait gallery, and now leaned closer, inspecting the painting that had so shocked him. He could feel his heart still pounding in his chest, and the surge of adrenaline still had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

The painting really was a thing of horrendous, violent beauty. Disregarding the subject material, the artistic talent of its production was remarkable. The brushwork was subtle, and the colors blended so perfectly there was a whole spectrum of shades in just one shadow. Creepy as it may be, the artist had actually done a damn good job of the dead Rabbit’s anatomy. The eyes were the perfect amount of shiny and clouded, and lacked that spark of life artists strove for in living models. Based on a certain barely detectable woodenness in the position, it was clear rigor mortis had set in on the body in the painting.

“So…” Thatch spoke hesitantly, regarding the painting. He swallowed. “Did Ace…?” Marco turned away from the painting to face Thatch.

“No. Ace is good, but according to the memories he has no experience with any kind of paint besides watercolor. He couldn’t have done something this refined on his first go.” Marco’s voice was calm. He turned back to the painting, regarding it objectively. “This is damn near Michelangelo as far as anatomical talent goes. But if you’ll notice, there’s one mistake.” He pointed to the place on the painting where the neck of the Rabbit was bent at a horrible angle, clearly broken. “When someone dies via hanging, assuming their neck breaks at all it breaks differently. Here the head is at a 105 degree angle whereas, based on the length of the Rabbit’s neck and how heavy I assume he is, it should be closer to 115. This wasn’t done using a real model. The Rabbit’s still alive.”

“…You scare me sometimes.” Thatch’s voice, though he tried to pass it off as deadpan, actually did contain a touch of fear. Marco snorted.

“Yeah. I know.”

“But seriously dude, how the fuck do you know that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Whitebeard’s voice was firm. “For now we need to focus.” He gestured to the door at the end of the portrait gallery. “That’s our first step to finding Ace.”

“Are you sure you want to be doing that?” All three turned their heads towards the voice.

The Cheshire Cat was sitting on the low ceiling, completely upside down. He sat next to a floor lamp that was protruding from the soft stone of the ceiling, the rope the painting hung off of tied to the lamppost.

His head, compared to his body, was perfectly inverted, the right way up for the pirates.

It was disturbing, seeing his head affixed the wrong way to his body, long neck contorted in a horrifying way to put the head where it would have been, but in the opposite orientation. As ever, he grinned at them, wide, white teeth shining in the lamplight.

He was unchanged.

He looked exactly as he had the first time Ace encountered him in Wonderland.

Thatch was looking a little green as he addressed the cat. “Now that is just disgusting.” Cheshire blinked.

“You don’t like it?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought it’d be easier for you to talk to me if at least my head was facing the same way up as the rest of you.” Thatch shook his head, looking like he was fighting not to throw up. Cheshire grinned at him. “My mistake. I’ll fix it.” Thatch’s eyes widened.

“No wait, don’t-“ Cheshire’s head twisted clockwise a full 180 degrees, accompanied by sickening pops and snaps. Thatch actually spun away, doubling over, covering his mouth and fighting not to vomit. Cheshire’s eyes narrowed slightly as if in amusement as Thatch gagged.

“Oh. I forgot. You have a certain dislike of corpseosis, don’t you? Pardon my heinous manners.” Cheshire stood and began walking across the ceiling, slowly padding down one of the curved walls and stopping to perch on a gramophone, now perpendicular to the three pirates. Thatch had recovered enough to speak by now and addressed the cat.

“You’re an ass.” He wiped his face again, still looking pale and a little shaky.

“Actually I’m a cat. But I’m fairly sure the terms are synonymous.”

“Cheshire. I was wondering when you’d first show up. You only ever come when you have something to say, so say it.” Whitebeard’s voice was calm. Coldly so. “I don’t appreciate you harassing one of my children, and if you do so again, there will be retribution. Say your piece and let us leave. We’re bringing Ace back from here and you’re not going to stop us.” Cheshire moved with all the speed of a dream, seemingly shifting from his place on the gramophone to resting on a bed protruding from the wall near a dollhouse without any movement on his part. It was instantaneous and a little jarring. He was closer to the pirates and grinned, gaze focused seemingly solely on Whitebeard.

“Oh and I don’t mean to. In fact, I’d rather like to aid you as I can in this endeavor. The outcome I’m looking for doesn’t end with you dead, at any rate, so I suppose we’re on the same side. You weren’t very subtle on your entry, coming in the front door like that. And we aren’t going to just hand Ace back to you on a silver platter.” The pirates’ faces had all gone dead serious.

“’We’? So you _are_ going to try to stop us.” Whitebeard’s voice had resumed its cold tone from before. Cheshire’s tail twitched.

“By ‘we’ I meant the beings of Wonderland.” He said, clearly annoyed. “I personally will aid you as I can, but that doesn’t hold true for the rest.”

“What reasons could the inhabitants possibly have to-”

“Oh darling do _pretend_ you have a brain, for the sake of _your_ sanity at least.” Cheshire said. “There’s a rather present and viable threat to Ace’s life, wellbeing, and mental and physical health aboard your ship. We, as the beings of his subconscious, aren’t just about to hand him back over to what we know will end in the ultimate termination of us all. Ace dies and so do we. It’s in our best interest to preserve him, and subsequently ourselves, for as long as we can. So no. The others will not just hand you back Ace.”

“Edward Hare isn’t on our ship anymore.” Whitebeard’s voice was firm.

“Really?” Cheshire said, tilting his head to the side. His eyes seemed to smolder in his head. The silence stretched. Just as it began to grow strange, Cheshire turned his gaze away. “Hmm. Well, at any rate, good luck explaining that to the Jabberwocky. I’m sure he’ll stop to listen while he’s doing his best to feed you your own intestines.”

“We haven’t come to Wonderland looking for a fight.” Marco’s voice was a touch defensive. Cheshire turned his gaze to him, menacing grin firmly in place.

“Oh? That’s a pity. One’s _certainly_ looking for _you_.” That left the three in a moment of quiet. Serpent had said that the beings of Wonderland, while a little less than sane, would be at the very least ambivalent about their presence. Yet here was Cheshire saying they were going to be actively antagonized by them. To be honest, Whitebeard didn’t know who to believe. He trusted Serpent more, but Cheshire had spent his entire existence in Wonderland, had observed all the changes that had taken place.

“What reason do we have to trust you? You could be Mr. Savage for all we know.”

“When the remarkable turns bizarre ‘reason’ turns rancid.” Cheshire said, “If you’ve only your wits you have nothing. Wits are useless here. _Everything_ is downside up.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“How many times must I say it before it makes it through that over-developed skull of yours? I don’t answer questions.” Cheshire said.

“If you can’t give us a good reason not to, we can’t we be sure it’s not in our best interest to ensure you won’t interfere later.” Cheshire’s eyes swept over the pirates, who now stood in subtle positions of combat. His grin, if possible, widened. He neither stood nor moved in any way, remaining seated, relaxed, on the bed.

“And how would you go about it, pray tell? Maybe you’d be able to destroy this construct Ace has sequestered a piece of his mind into and named ‘Cheshire Cat’, maybe you couldn’t. But is it really so easy to kill an idea? And say you did destroy me in my entirety. How much of the Ace you’re fighting so desperately to save would go with me? But, if you’re willing to take that risk, fine by me. It’s your loss, in any case. I can’t pretend to know _everything_ but I do know quite a bit, and this new Wonderland isn’t kind to beginners. Threats, promises, and good intentions don’t amount to action. Kill me, if you like. Or try. But, suffice to say, very often a thing is easier to say than to do, and is the risk you take worth it?” A moment of silence passed. Cheshire remained where he was, relaxed, even his tail remaining still.

Whitebeard weighed the risks, the gains and the losses that were possible. Everything Cheshire had said was true. In all honesty, there was too much they didn’t know, both about Wonderland and about what would happen if they did destroy any of Wonderland’s inhabitants. And the third variable. What exactly was Cheshire capable of? They’d never seen him engage in combat of any kind. What if he managed to kill the three of them? It seemed infeasible, but Serpent had warned that combat in Wonderland was different. If they ended up dead, what would become of Ace? He’d be left here, comatose, unable to escape, until Mr. Savage finally destroyed him. They couldn’t take that risk. Whitebeard exhaled, opening his eyes.

“You win this round, Cheshire.” Cheshire’s grin remained unchanged.

“You know, it’s somewhat of a shame. I was waiting to see your faces when you realized devil fruits don’t work here.” Thatch blanched in surprise.

“You’re kidding.” He said, voice deadpan.

“The mind is the birthplace of Haki, yes? Well Ace can’t exactly turn it on and off down here like he can upstairs.” His eyes shifted between Marco and Whitebeard. “I wonder which of you two will be the most useless.” Cheshire’s grin widened. “There’s someone who’d very much like to meet you, and I don’t see any point in further delaying you, we’ve wasted enough time in that regard already. We’re on a hellish schedule here, so I’d get moving, if I were you.” Cheshire stood and began walking up the wall lazily, quietly humming to himself. “There once was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile,” Marco shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re mad.” Cheshire spun his head to grin at him.

“I know. I’ve known for a while now. But it’s a much pleasanter existence living with your head on upside down.” He spun his head back and continued walking up the wall. “He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile,” Thatch, Marco, and Whitebeard turned away, walking towards the door at the end of the hallway. It seemed to stretch oddly as they walked down it, like it didn’t want them to reach the end of it. “He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,” _the Dormouse was delicious, by the way._ Marco’s spine stiffened as the words rang in his head. They were not his own. He could feel Cheshire’s gaze burning into his back and didn’t turn to look. “and they all died together in a crooked little house.” _What do phoenixes taste like, Marco? Are they hard to pluck?_ Marco felt like he couldn’t breathe, like there was something constricting about his chest, something strangling his heart.

“Those aren’t the words to the rhyme.” Marco’s voice was breathy. Cheshire’s laugh was harsh and jarring.

“Oh? My mistake. I’m not Ace’s memory, so recalling something like a children’s rhyme isn’t my forte.” Thatch had already opened the door, Whitebeard was already through it. Marco followed Thatch through, hesitating only to look back for a moment.

Through the open doorway he saw Ace running towards him.

His arms were spread wide, and Cheshire’s grin split his face. His fingers seemed elongated, the nail at the end of each a deadly claw. He was horribly thin, his vertebrae clearly visible as they stabbed at the skin of his neck and back. His ribs looked as if they were about to tear through his skin like paper, and his eyes shone frigid, icy blue. Cheshire’s almost tribal tattoos swirled on his arms and legs, the dull gold hoop hanging from his right ear and his knees bent the wrong way. Time seemed to freeze.

 _Save me, Marco. Aren’t I the Ace you came after?_ Marco stared in horror at the nightmare-like image of the child. The voice gave an echoing laugh in his head. _Or were you looking for the perfected mask he shows you? You’re keeping secrets Marco. I don’t like secrets._ The voice laughed again. _But I’ve already seen one of your secrets. I found it behind your left eye._ The door slipped from Marco’s hand and began to fall closed. _Fine. Leave. But you won’t get away._ The voice went singsong. _I seeeeee you…I seeeeeeee you…_ The door was almost closed. The voice dropped to a horrendous, deafening roar.

**RuN WHiLe YOu cAN, TRaItoR!!!**

The door clicked shut. Marco was left staring at it with wide eyes, unsure of exactly what happened. His heart beat faster, and his breathing was uneven. The wood stood firmly, and there was no thud as if from an impact, though the image he’d seen would have reached the door by then. The handle didn’t turn. The nightmare didn’t come through.

Thatch’s hand landing on Marco’s shoulder made him jump.

“Hey, man.” He said. He tossed his head, indicating the direction of the Gate. “Let’s go.” Marco swallowed thickly.

“Y-Yeah.” Thatch looked at him strangely.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Marco shook himself and forced a smile.

“I’m fine.” He hesitated a moment. “Hey Thatch…?”

“What’s up?”

“Did you see or hear…” Marco shook his head. “Never mind.” Thatch clapped him on the shoulder, giving a worried smile.

“You sure you’re okay?” Marco shivered.

“This place is just giving me the creeps.” It was half truth. “Stuff just gets under your skin, you know?” Thatch looked him in the eye seriously.

“I know. But keep it out of your skin and out of your head, Marco. This place is already crazy enough, and if we don’t keep it together Ace is going to be stuck here. It’s not real. None of it’s real. Even if you aren’t really coping, act like it. We need you. Save the mental breakdowns for when we’re all back home and safe.” He patted his shoulder and smiled jokingly. “If you go crazy, who’s going to keep _me_ sane?” Marco laughed and felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders and mind. Thatch was good at that. Making you feel better when everything just sucked.

“Who’s to say you were sane in the first place? You’ve pulled some pretty crazy shit over the years.” Marco saw some tension ease from Thatch’s shoulders as well, and the smile became a bit less forced. That was also like Thatch. Worry about someone else when he too was just as freaked out and in trouble.

“I take that as a compliment.” Marco allowed the smile to last for another moment, then took a deep, steadying breath. He turned towards the Gate, towards where Oyaji was waiting a few feet away. He squared his shoulders and walked towards him, giving a firm nod when Whitebeard asked him if he was alright.

The walk to the gate seemed longer than it had before, and the sand was coarser. The oceans had pulled much further back, and what it had left behind wasn’t pretty. The beams of sunken ships stuck out of the sand like ribs and all across the broad, flat expanse of sand were carcasses, bloated and unrecognizable from long exposure to ocean, rotting, leaving brown-yellow stains on the sand and putrefying the air. Flies hummed all around. They fought not to gag on the air as they walked past what once may have been a sort of dolphin, and when Thatch stumbled, accidentally kicking it, its skin burst in a cloud of flies and stagnant, blighted air. Its head came to a stop near his foot, and for an instant he thought he saw its eye move to stare at him. A moment later, though, when the cloudy sphere popped like a pimple, white maggots leaking down its face like tears, Thatch chalked it up to the movements of the tiny insects inside, fighting back the disgust roiling in his stomach.

The water itself had changed too, no longer a pale, stunning turquoise-blue. The water was grey and an unfelt wind seemed to gust over its surface, unsettling the waves and tossing up spray. Thatch looked out at the water once, but when he saw what looked like a human head poking out of the water, staring at their progress through its eyeless head expressionlessly he looked away, deciding it better not to look back.

The Gate looked almost the same as it had in the original Wonderland.

Almost.

From a distance, the only real difference visible was the color of the water flowing through it. It was much darker than it had been nearly two moths ago, but its current through the carefully formed glass it was still beautiful. As they drew nearer the fish began to grow visible, flitting through the dark water like wraiths. The fish had changed.

No more were the bright colors and quiet wanderings. These fish were dark, mottled with dark grey and black. They stood out starkly against the water, and each moved with a purpose. There was a swarm of them near the top, all congregating in one great mass.

As they drew close, Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard focused their eyes more at ground level, waiting for the Dodo to make his appearance. There wasn’t a doubt in Thatch’s mind that they would encounter the Dodo at the Gate. The short trek across the beach had been uninterrupted by the inhabitants of Wonderland, but as Gatekeeper it was probably Dodo’s job to keep intruders out and inhabitants in. Dodo would be their first hurdle.

No one was there.

As they drew nearer to the gate, it became clear nobody was there watching it. Thatch was confused. He’d been, they’d all been certain that Dodo would meet them there, friendly or not. Thatch looked around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He stepped under the Gate, looking around.

Drip.

A droplet of liquid landed on the top of his head. Thatch disregarded it. It’d been cloudy, in all likelihood it had just started to rain a little. What was more important was finding the stealth attack or trap he was beginning to believe Dodo must have set up.

Drip.

This landed on his arm, soaking a tiny portion of his sleeve. It was warm. _Of all the weirdness here you pick to think about the_ weather? _Prioritize, Thatch. There’re more important things right now._

Dripdrip. Drip.

The three droplets hit at nearly the same time, larger than before. The two that fell close to each other, practically on top of each other, landed on his shoulder, the other on the left side of his face, the nearly hot liquid sliding down and into his eye. It stung a bit, and he wiped at it impatiently. As he retracted his hand from his face he froze, staring at it with wide eyes.

Blood.

“Jesus Christ!” He wiped at his face, the sticky red liquid staining his fingers and forehead. “Why the _fuck_ does it rain blood he-“ He looked up, meaning to get a look at the cloud, four fat, hot drops landing on his forehead and left cheek. His breath froze in his throat, look of horror on his face.

“I-I found the Dodo, guys.”

Dodo’s intestines formed a slimy rope that led up to his stomach that led up to his esophagus that disappeared behind the slash in his flesh that had disemboweled him. Tiny rivulets of blood trailed down the grisly display of organs, and it was the drips off the end of his large intestine, the lowest hanging piece of him, that had been falling on Thatch. Blood still pumped sluggishly from his veins. He was alive.

He’d been crucified on the Gate.

His wings were pinned out on either side of his torso, pulled far beyond where they naturally went. It was clear they’d been dislocated, and many of the tendons and muscles had probably been torn as well. Thatch had no idea how it had been done, but his back was actually embedded in and through the glass.

It was the reason the fish were swarming

Blood streamed away from the Dodo and into the cloud of fish. The fish darted towards him, all struggling to be closest. Their backs flashed dull grey in the odd, diffused light of the sky, and the red of the water around them made the occasional shimmer a violent ruby.

They were eating him alive.

The white of his bones were visible beneath the tatters of flesh on his back, the back side of his ribcage and spine visible. It wouldn’t be long before the fish got through the muscles and into something vital. They darted in mercilessly, tearing away chunks of flesh. Based on their progress he’d been up there for days.

The Dodo made no sound of pain even though any human in his place would have been screaming in agony. He didn’t seem like he felt any of it, and was so still it was easy to believe he was dead but for his barely visibly beating heart.

His head was angled right towards them.

He drew in breath with difficulty, as if it was the first time he’d done it in a long while. “Welcome.” His voice was a croak, dry, unpracticed, again like it hadn’t been used in a very long time. The edge of his beak seemed to crease up in a smile. “Welcome. Welcome.” The smile grew on his face. “Welcome. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.” The dark crescent, bearing no relation to anything that conveyed joy or love or anything as sane as that, spread like a plague, growing wider and wider. “Welcome. Welcome.” Thatch jumped when Whitebeard touched his arm.

“We should go.” He said quietly. He glanced up at Dodo then returned his gaze to Thatch. His eyes were steady, as if he were trying to calm Thatch through the look alone. “There’s nothing we can do and there’s no telling how long Ace can evade Mr. Savage. The Dodo can’t hinder us.” Thatch swallowed thickly and nodded. He looked up at the Dodo.

“I just…almost wish we could put him out of his misery. That’s not a happy smile.” _Of course it is._ Everyone’s _happy these days._ The words came in Cheshire’s voice, inside his mind. He shook his head. _I’m imagining things._ Whitebeard squeezed his shoulder gently.

“There’s nothing we can do for him. Nothing that wouldn’t only cause more pain. I hate to abandon him, anyone, like this, but we have no way of helping.” He looked up directly at the Dodo. “I’m sorry, friend.”

“Welcome. Welcome. Welcome.” The three began walking forward again. The smile grew. “Welcome welcome welcome welcome.” They were nearly under the Gate. “Welcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcomewelcome” The grin was huge now on Dodo’s face. His voice grew to a shriek. “WELCOMEWELCOMEWELCOMEWEL-“ The voice cut off suddenly, and Thatch jumped back as something fell to the ground in front of him with a thud, blood spattering around it and falling from Dodo with renewed vigor.

Dodo’s eye stared at him from the top half of his head from its place near Thatch’s feet.

It was no knife or attack that had cut Dodo’s head apart, though. Blood dripped from the remainder of the Dodo above as his lower jaw continued to move, no doubt forming that same word again and again and again. Dry air hissed out of the Dodo’s throat forming inarticulate sounds and his tongue flapped about uselessly. Dodo’s eye remained fixed on Thatch, the edge of his beak reaching past the back of his head.

Dodo’s smile had split through his head.

Thatch found his eyes locked with Dodo’s, the bird’s still clear, living pupil fixing his own to it. He couldn’t look away. Dodo’s gaze held his own and he couldn’t make himself turn away.

He felt like he was being drawn into that pupil, that eye, that immense, unnatural grin that had but hadn’t killed the Dodo. He was falling into that golden iris, into that tiny black hole at the center of it, into the madness he saw there, into the madness that had grinned the Dodo to pieces. He saw himself reflected in that eye, saw an unnatural grin splitting his face, saw his own head falling apart. His reflection seemed to look at him and hissed, voice as choked and dry as Dodo’s.

“Doomed.” They couldn’t do it. There was no way. They were all going to die-notdie-die like Dodo. “Doomed.” The top half of his reflection’s head folded back, the grin nearly through the other side of his head. Thatch’s face ached and he could feel the grin, could feel it cutting through his sku-

“Thatch.”

Whitebeard’s voice was calm, steadying. Thatch’s eyes were broken free by that voice, and his gaze snapped up to meet Whitebeard’s eyes instead. He realized his breath was bordering on hyperventilation, that he was dizzy from the lack of oxygen. His heartbeat was way too fast, and his eyes were wide.

“Look at me, Thatch. Come here.” Whitebeard kept that same even tone, maintaining eye contact with Thatch. “You’re okay, son. Come over here.” Thatch took a tiny, shaky step to his left. “That’s it, you’ve got it. It’s okay. You’re okay. Come here.” _Doomed._ His reflection’s voice still hissed in his mind. He felt his eyes wandering, felt them being pulled back to Dodo’s head. _Doomed_. “Thatch, look here. Look at me.” His eyes locked back on Whitebeard and he took another step, this one carrying him further, further away from the hell in Dodo’s eyes.

It seemed like an eternity before he put the Dodo’s head behind him, out of sight and out of mind. Whitebeard’s strong voice and steady gaze stabilized Thatch. When he came to stand beside him, Whitebeard asked for no explanation, just giving him a firm pat on the back. Thatch felt like he was far away, buried in the furthest recesses of his own mind. Yet, despite the feeling of being barely conscious, everything around him seemed to be in hyper-clarity. The colors seemed brighter, the edges of things sharpened.

Whitebeard led the way, and Marco followed behind him. Dimly Thatch was aware it was for his benefit, to prevent him from even being able to look back at Dodo. Marco stumbled as a piece of driftwood shattered beneath his foot and caught himself on Thatch’s shoulder. Thatch accepted and supported his weight while he rebalanced himself, not even turning to look back at him.

“Thanks.” Marco mumbled, regaining his feet. Thatch’s head snapped around, neck turning almost to the point of breaking.

“’WELCOME!” He was grinning, eyes wide. Marco stumbled back, releasing his shoulder. As fast as Thatch had spun his head towards Marco he spun it away, continuing to follow Whitebeard. Marco stared after him in shock, unsure of how to respond.

“…Thatch?” Again Thatch turned, this time a little more naturally, grin still nearly splitting his face.

“Hmmmm?” He dragged out the syllable, seeming to taste it.

“Thatch stop smiling like that.” Thatch laughed and half-skipped towards Marco.

“Why shouldn’t I smile? _Everyone’s_ happy these day-“

Thatch flew to the left as if struck by a great force. He was sent flying so far he actually crashed into the grey waters of the sea. Marco stared after him in shock, uncomprehending. He looked to Whitebeard, but he too was staring after Thatch in wonder. Thatch hit the water with a massive splash, the grey closing over him eagerly.

“Blood has power. Don’t let it sway you.” Marco and Whitebeard’s heads snapped towards the voice.

The White Rabbit stood straight, relaxed, his face pulled into its wide grin. He was brushing one gloved hand casually on his jacket, as if trying to rid it of an unpleasant substance, and in his other he loosely clasped his gold pocket-watch, staring at its face absently. Marco looked between the splash where Thatch had hit the water and the Rabbit. He turned towards the sea and began sprinting.

“Jesus, Rabbit, you could’ve hurt him!” he shouted over his shoulder. Rabbit turned his smile to him, snapping shut his pocket-watch and tugging his gloves on tighter.

“I’m aware how breakable human bones are. He’s fine.” Thatch’s head resurfaced from the water, sputtering and gasping. Marco instantly turned away from Rabbit, sprinting towards his friend instead.

“Thatch! You alright?” Thatch dragged himself out of the water, spluttering and sopping. His hair hung in his face but Marco could see the water had washed away the red stain of Dodo’s blood on his forehead and cheek. Long strands of seaweed hung from Thatch’s limbs and he flapped his arms impatiently, trying to get rid of them.

“That water’s fucking _cold_ , Marco, how the fuck do you think I’m doing?!” He waded through the knee-deep surf, still trying to shake water from his hair, wringing water from his bandana. Marco sighed in relief. If Thatch was complaining about the temperature he couldn’t have been in pain, which meant nothing of _vital_ import was broken. Thatch looked more inshore, swiping his dripping hair from his eyes. “Rabbit’s the one that hit me?” Marco nodded.

“Yeah. He said something about-“ Marco was cut off as an unexpected wave swept over Thatch, sending him sprawling back into the knee-deep water. Thatch rose out of it, gasping and coughing, and made a last mad dash to get out of the water.

“Oh we’re having fucking rabbit stew for dinner!” He finally made it out of the sea, trying to shake water from his clothes and shoes. Marco went to meet him, and the two of them headed inland. Rabbit and Whitebeard approached at a more reserved pace, and it wasn’t long before Marco and Thatch reached the two of them. Thatch stormed up to the Rabbit.

“What the actual hell? Why’d you hit me?” He was gesturing widely. “Do you have any _idea_ how _cold_ that water is?” Rabbit sighed, leaning away from Thatch. From his pocket he withdrew a handkerchief with a flourish and dabbed at the droplets of water that had hit him from Thatch’s angry gesticulations.

“I apologize for any inconvenience.” He looked Thatch’s sopping frame up and down disapprovingly. “…sir.” He spat the word with the same disapproving eyes, like he couldn’t believe he was saying it to Thatch. “The young master was rather distressed when he saw the Dodo had gotten inside you. It was either send you for a swim or peel off your skin and pull out your eye. I assumed you would favor the former. Sir.”

“I don’t think it was entirely _necessary!”_ Rabbit maintained his cool politeness.

“Madness is a communicable disease.” A sore on his face ruptured, black pus and brown blood trailing down the side of his face unheeded and his grin seemed to widen. “You wouldn’t want to get _infected_ , now would you?” He turned to Whitebeard. “It’s best not to linger long in one place. The Jabberwocky knows you’re in Wonderland and remaining too long is a guarantee of his finding you.”

“Hey! I’m still pissed at you!” Rabbit continued without even blinking.

“It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t pass this first hurdle unhindered. There isn’t exactly a whole lot of time left and the young master’s hiding place isn’t impenetrable. The game is almost over and if you don’t hurry it’ll be checkma-“

“Plug that noisy orifice before we _both_ go mad.” Rabbit spun to face Cheshire who had synthesized himself behind Whitebeard. Rabbit made no response and for a time they both stared at each other silently, glacial ice-blue meeting steely hazel-grey. Something unspoken hung in the air between them, and Marco looked from Rabbit to Cheshire uncomfortably. Rabbit turned back to them, not even seeming to make note of Cheshire’s presence.

“Well. I must be off.” He turned his back on the group, consequently facing Cheshire again. “Your route doesn’t especially matter. There’s more than one way to skin a cat” His voice acquired an intense tone as he spoke, but he dropped it, returning to his former lightness. “So I’m sure you’ll find my young master soon.” He took a step and was gone.

Once he left silence fell over the group. Thatch watched Cheshire, who was almost glaring at the place Rabbit had occupied a moment before. After a moment, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Um…you and Rabbit don’t seem exactly…chummy.” Cheshire shifted his gaze to Thatch and blinked indolently, all previous spite leaving his eyes.

“Familiarity bred contempt. Proximity may breed violence.”

“Violence like Dodo.” Cheshire turned his head to look at Marco, wide grin not even twitching.

“A new law reigns in _this_ Wonderland, and it’s very rough justice all ‘round. Dodo wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last if you don’t hurry.” Thatch turned to look out at the expanse of Wonderland visible from where they were. It seemed massive, daunting. Unfamiliar. He ran a hand through his still-wet hair.

“Where do we even start?” Cheshire laughed low and dark in his ear.

“The proper order of things is often a mystery to me. You too? There’s no such _thing_ as direction here. Let your need guide your behavior. Suppress your instinct to lead. Ace wants you to find him and his will dictates this place. Follow his lead.” Cheshire began to disappear. “Steps to enlightenment brighten the way, but the steps are steep. Take them one at a time.”

* * *

 

Silence.

Silence had only one companion here: darkness.

Silence meant solitude. Solitude meant the candles had burnt out a long time ago. Therefore silence meant darkness.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Silence.

Darkness.

Solitude.

His world. Perfectly as it should be, had been.

.

.

.

Light.

His wires rattled against each other like bones and he felt the approaching figure.

“Pour tea. Set a banquet. You’ll be having guests.” He heard the figure moving about his table, his Midas’ feast. He heardfelt them brushing dust off it all, off the tea set, off the tablecloth, off the rotten cake, nearly petrified in its age. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Made no response. The figure drew near once again, brushing dust off him, off his shoulders, off his arms and jacket. “Oh come now. You need to get ready for another party.” He twitched when the figure brushed against the wire near his left hand, instinctively reaching for the figure like a spider. He sawfelt their grin.

“That’s more like it.” The figure drew back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

It left.

Silence.

Darkness.

Solitude.

He inhaled, heardfelt the wind whistling through his pipes and into his dried-liver lungs.

“Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?”


	36. Chapter 36

The forest was, on the surface, much as it had been before. The cherry trees still bloomed; the undergrowth was still lush but not entangling or overgrown. The only visible difference at first was the colors. Everything seemed to have lost its vibrancy. The forest was practically in black and white and the tones of Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard’s clothing and skin seemed over-saturated in that wash of ash and white.

The forest, beyond being drained of color, was entirely silent. The wind itself seemed to hold its breath, not daring to stir the branches lest they rattle against each other. Nothing moved in the undergrowth, no brush nor thicket rustled with the friendly meanderings of wildlife. The air felt heavy, still and dense, nearly stagnant, and no matter how deeply you breathed, it never seemed to really fill your lungs.

The whole forest felt petrified with fear.

As he walked beneath the arching boughs, the dappled sunlight itself seeming to tremble in terror, Whitebeard thought. He’d refused to let himself show surprise at Wonderland, at the violence, the savagery, refused to let himself actually think about what it meant, and only now as they walked through this terrified forest did Whitebeard’s mind finally betray him and begin to think, really think, about exactly what they’d seen.

Violence. Madness. Cruelty. Fear. He’d encountered these things before, and in excess, but Wonderland, ah Wonderland was taking it up a notch. The death and ruin that had surrounded them from the beginning, the horror and brutality weren’t something that could be pushed away, weren’t something they could write off and drop in a corner and deal with. It was everything, everywhere and it was getting worse.

Whitebeard, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, had been taken by surprise. The only reason he’d kept it together at all was because he could see that as surprised as he’d been, Thatch and Marco had been too. They’d needed support and dammit he was their father and he could deal with it until they were alright. Well, now they seemed to be alright and Whitebeard allowed himself at least the internal reaction.

What the _hell_ was going on here? How, over the course of a month, _one month_ , had Wonderland turned from the place it had been to _this?_ How were they going to get Ace back? They had no clue where they were, no idea what could be waiting for them in the future. Could they really deal with everything Wonderland seemed ready to dish out?

Whitebeard didn’t know. And _that_ scared him.

 The trees trembled, the branches clacking against each other like bones. Whitebeard’s heart leapt in his chest but he allowed no outward indication of the surprise. The silence of the forest, the death of that cold sea, the cold indifference of Dodo’s crucifixion, the joyless smile that had split Dodo’s skull, Rabbit rotting in his own flesh, Cheshire and his grinning grinning grinning upsidedownsideup head…they were picking at him, searching for any chink in his armor, any way they could get through and pull at his sanity, pull it apart, pull _him_ apart and maybe he’d die-notdie-die like Dodo, maybe grin himself to pieces, maybe something _new_ because change is good and the Caucus Race is fun fun all in good fun fun fun and there’s no time like the present so why not smile, why not bleed, why not turn around and rip out Marco’s spine? Why not-

“Look this way.” Whitebeard’s head snapped up, searching for the source of the voice. “I mean _at_ me, not _like_ me.” Whitebeard blinked vigorously, fighting to clear his mind. His eyes, when he reopened them, found Cheshire.

“Cheshire.” Whitebeard said, forcing his voice to be steady.

“Hello again.” Cheshire replied.

“What are you here for?” Thatch asked. Cheshire didn’t even glance away from Whitebeard at him.

“Always with your questions. You aught to know by now I won’t answer.” Cheshire said, dismissive. _Hello, Whitebeard._ Cheshire’s voice echoed inside Whitebeard’s skull, low and intense. _How does it feel? To be falling so quickly into the rhythm of savagery?_

“Your avoidance of questions is beginning to get annoying.” Thatch said, voice flat.

 _I’m not falling. Violence is rarely the answer and isn’t so here. I’m here to save Ace and it’ll take more than a crucified Dodo to scare me off. I’m not going to fall to the ‘rhythm of savagery’. I’m a reasonable person and will remain so. Violence will only be exercised where absolutely necessary._ Whitebeard thought back. He had to remain firm, calm.

 _“_ I’m only here to provide a mild service. There’s some information I feel is pivotal to the current location of your internal organs.” Cheshire said.

Cheshire was watching him intently, his eyes boring into Whitebeard’s. _That’s cute. Now_ _get off your high horse and be ready to tear some poor son of a bitch apart. You won’t last long here if you can’t become part of us. We destroy what’s foreign or confusing. You’re one of us now. You need to be, if you want to survive. Violence? Madness? I only see a game._ The grin widened. _A_ race _. And who’s going to win? Well that all depends on whether you do end up beating someone to death with a stick or whether you’re the one getting beaten._ Cheshire’s grin went chilling. _I don’t need to tell you which side of the stick I prefer being on._

The pause was deadly silent. Marco wanted to speak, wanted to ask, but there was no way to phrase what he wanted as an indirect question. Finally Cheshire continued without prompting. “You can’t stay in these woods long. Carpenter’s here, and he’s not in the most genial of moods right now.”

 _You’re mad._ Whitebeard thought back. He’d seen how Serpent and Ace, how Ace and the Caterpillar had communicated and didn’t doubt Cheshire was working the same trick.

“Carpenter? But we’ve done nothing to him, he has no grudge against us.” Marco said.

 _We’re all mad here. As an honored guest you think you’re excluded? You better be ready to do some beating with that stick. Only the insane equate pain with success and when you’re being spattered with the blood of one of us, one of these_ animals _, only_ then _will you see our true worth._ Cheshire replied easily.

 _Only the savage regard the endurance of pain as the measure of worth._ Whitebeard thought, staring at Cheshire darkly. Cheshire began disappearing, his skin burning away like paper. Marco called for him to wait, but he continued fading nonetheless. Cheshire’s eyes seemed to burn into Whitebeard’s challengingly, violence and the promise of action behind his frozen glare, his grin looking monstrous as he replied.

_Then call me positively_ savage _._

* * *

 

The dead silence of the forest had been a little unsettling. The stillness of the air, the hush of the trees, and the hollowness of color had set deep tension in all three of the Whitebeard pirates. Walking through that stillness felt like walking into a trap, like at any moment something was going to jump out and attack. Nothing did, and that only made it worse. The tension, the suspense of waiting was to the point that each of their footfalls sounded like a thunderclap, each breath too loud in the shroud of stillness.

When Marco saw the change he actually stopped to stare. “What the hell…?” He mumbled, voice lowered in the chilling silence.

 About five paces in front of them the colors came back.

It was as if someone had drawn a line. On one side all was black and white and drained. On the other, everything seemed oversaturated, vibrantly, blindingly, unrealistically so. Flowers bloomed. The leaves and grass shone greener than emeralds, the wood colored deep, rich mahogany, the white picket fence surrounding the color so pure in hue it was practically reflective.

The gate was open, and after a moment’s deliberation the trio stepped through.

Inside, much was as it had been without. The haunting silence remained, the terrified stillness. But the tension was gone.

The tension was gone because this was the trap, and they’d sprung it.

At least…that was Marco’s initial reaction when he felt the anxiety leave the air. But when nothing happened, he began to wonder. He looked around, trying to find something, anything, that made this place special, the reason it, among the gloom of the rest of the forest, was bright as a neon sign.

“C-Come to hear a story…?” The voice was breathy, barely audible. Marco looked around, trying to find its source. “…C-Come to hear a story…?” A tiny squeaking, like unoiled wheels, began creaking towards them. The bushes before them rustled as something moved in them and Marco tensed, preparing for whatever was coming.

An old, weathered tricycle rolled out from the bush.

It had no rider, yet the pedals squeaked and turned, propelling the little bike closer to the pirates. It had been purple once. The paint was chipped and faded and dull grey metal was visible underneath. It seemed drained of color much as the forest outside this oversaturated clearing had been, the purple faded to nearly grey. It had a basket attached to the handlebars, dilapidated and worn but still functional. The wicker was stained from exposure to the elements, but still looked strong enough to support some load. The wheels were rusty and squeaked as they turned, visible rust corroding the spokes and axels of the wheels.

“Alice got a happy ending. How is that fair?” A voice, the same as the first but somehow different, echoed from the bush. It was quickly hushed by another.

“…C-Come to hear a story…?” The voice sounded almost childish. The stutter in the beginning sounded almost like a choke, as if the words themselves stuck in the throat of the speaker. The voice was coming from in front of them, and Marco stepped forward hesitantly.

The little tricycle had rolled to a stop in front of them, and as he passed it he gave it a fairly wide berth. It neither moved nor made any sound as he passed it, and only had that air of abandonment common with old things. As he walked by he paused to look in the basket.

A doll’s head stared up from the bottom of it, sightless glass eyes set on the sky. Tear tracks ran down its face from crystalline blue eyes and the mouth and eyes were set in a position of despair. When removed from the doll, it had been popped off, not broken or cut.

Marco pulled his eyes away and continued forward, into the slight clearing he could see through the trees. With the tricycle’s stop the silence had returned. It hung in the air like a stench, omnipresent and suffocating. It seemed to thicken as he moved, tightening around him, pulling him back, whispering ‘no, stay, don’t, it’s bad, you don’t want to see, you don’t want to know, you don’t want to find out what we are, you don’t want to see what your friend _really_ is, no, stay, don’t, it’s bad…’ over and over again. The last trees passed him by and he was in the clearing.

A figure. Small, no taller than a six year old.

His back was to Marco and the others and he stood perfectly, impossibly still. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and dirty hair hung about his head in mussed curls. He didn’t even seem to breathe, neither his shoulders of sides stirring with breath. Marco remained a fair distance away, preferring to err on the side of caution. The little figure seemed to hear or sense Marco, for he lifted his head a little before cocking it to the side.

“…C-Come to hear a story?” The stutter was still there, still sounding as if the little figure were choking. _Story…_ Marco took a breath.

“…Tweedle Dum?” He guessed. The little figure shook his head. “Tweedle Dee, then.” A nod, then a pause. “…Where’s your twin?” Tweedle Dee raised his hand slowly, from the shoulder, his elbow remaining strangely inanimate, pointed up so his arm hung flat. His wrist, too, remained oddly relaxed, his hand hanging at a slight angle from his arm. His hand was loose, only the pointer finger raised, and his whole arm pointed off into the woods in front of him and to his left.

Still hanging in his loose grip was another hand, seemingly torn off just above the wrist. Blood still trickled from it lifelessly.

“…C-Carpenter didn’t like the story…” He stuttered. “B-Been spending too much time with Mr. Savage. He used to l-love the stories…B-But Mr. Savage got to him. “Why do you let them give you an unha-happy ending?” He s-said. “All they do is laugh at y-you. Don’t y-you hate it?” A-And Carpenter listened. S-So now there’s no more stories…” He trailed off and for the first time Marco recognized he was shaking slightly, trembling. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I d-don’t like b-being alone…” A shudder passed down his spine and his breath seemed to catch in his throat. “Why did my t-twin leave? Where did he g-go? D-Do you know? Where did C-Carpenter put him? I-…I-…” He trailed off. _He’s traumatized. Probably in shock._ Marco glanced at the severed hand still dangling from Tweedle Dee’s grip. _Can’t say I really blame him…_ A thought occurred to Marco. _Maybe Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum represent Ace and his relationship with Sabo…? Ace was pretty damn torn up after Sabo died, if this is part of his psyche having the same reaction over again we need to be as comforting as we can be._ Marco took a careful step forward, making his voice as gentle as possible.

“Listen, we don’t know where your twin is, but maybe if we work together we can find him.” Marco said, trying to keep his voice soft. Thatch looked at him like he was crazy, but Marco motioned for him to remain silent. “Carpenter can’t have taken him far.” He continued moving slowly towards the little boy, stepping softly. “Me and my friends…well, we’re looking for someone too. If we help you find your twin, do you think you can help us-“

“Stop.” Tweedle Dee’s voice was sharp and commanding. For the first time there was no stutter, no hint of the frailty that had laced his voice before. Marco froze instantly where he was, still maybe four feet behind Tweedle Dee. “Don’t come any closer!” Marco remained perfectly still, eyes fixated on Tweedle Dee, searching for any hint of movement, any sign of an incoming attack. He was on thin ice and he knew it. “You…Y-You can’t come any cl-closer…” The frailty was back, the command replaced with something akin to fear. His shaking was growing worse, clearly visible. “Y-You’re not going to g-get any closer! I wo-won’t let you k-kill me!” He laughed, breathy and terrified. “Yo-you’re trying to t-turn me a-against th-them aren’t you? I-I ca-can’t let th-that happen, o-okay? Th-the-there’s too much to l-lose…Tweedle Dum is g-gone and if I-I can’t h-hold on then we-we’re both dea-dead.” Marco tried to take a quiet step back, attempting to distance himself from what looked more and more like a threat. “DON’T MOVE.” He roared. For a moment his fame seemed to blur into something grotesque, twisted and awful, but in another blink it was gone. Tweedle Dee had a hand raised to his face, and his shaking was worse than ever. “Oh-oh God…N-No…I…I do-don’t want t-to di-die…” Tweedle Dum’s hand slipped from his grasp as he raised his other hand, covering his face and shaking his head. “N-No…I-I can’t…the-the young ma-master needs me…I c-can’t die…”

“Listen,” Marco kept his voice low and even, non-provocative, “there’s no threat here. You’re alright. Nobody’s going to hurt you, you aren’t going to die. It’s okay.” Tweedle Dee was shaking his head.

“N-No. It’s n-not. You do-don’t underst-stand yet, you c-can’t help m-me. D-Dying is j-just dying, except when it’s n-not.” Tweedle Dee said. The shaking was getting worse, his arms nearly spasming.

“What do you mean?” Marco asked, maintaining his steady voice.

“W-We don’t di-die like you h-here…O-Our vers-version is wo-worse. Wh-when you d-die you just f-fall over and r-rot, but we-we’ve been r-rotting since the be-beginning. O-Our de-death is wh-when we enti-entirely fail o-our purpose. W-We were a-all made as someth-thing. M-M-Mr. Savage,” the name seemed to instill such fear in him he could barely pronounce the name. “k-kills us by f-finding out e-exactly wh-what we are, what w-we were m-made for and th-then h-he…” A violent shudder passed down the length of his spine and he wrapped his arms around himself, curling inward, nearly doubling over in sheer terror. “…h-he makes us…n-not. W-We become e-everyth-thing we we-were ne-never meant to b-be, th-the complete an-antithesis o-of what we or-originally we-were.” A slight pause. “D-Do you re-remember the B-Black Widow?” A slight pause, but he continued without waiting for an answer. “Sh-She used to b-be th-the part of A-Ace that took such good c-care of Lu-Luffy. Wh-Whenever Luffy h-had a ni-nightmare it w-was that par-part of Ace that s-sat up with hi-him till dawn. _Did y-you see what he m-made her into?_ ” His voice dropped to a terrified hiss on the last sentence. Tweedle Dee drew in a shaky breath. “Oh yes, the face of death is _terrifying_ be-because it’s _your_ face, only n-not anymore because it’s a _monster_ and the monster is you and you can never, _never_ go back…” He seemed to be nearly crying. “…Sh-she was tr-trying to exp-explain it to y-you, I th-think. A-Apologize. E-Even as sh-she watched herself strangle y-you. A-And then you st-stabbed her over and over and o-over again and even though the blade stung like ice sh-she wept in h-happiness bec-because it could finally, _finally_ end…” Tweedle Dee trailed off for a moment.

“…I th-thought maybe Ca-Carpenter could d-do that to u-us before we died, s-save us from the inevitable.” His voice dropped to that terrified whisper again. “B-But I can’t figure it out. I can’t f-figure out how to die like you, like she d-did. D-Do you think you could te-teach me? Please…th-there should be a kn-knife on the g-ground nearby. Wh-Whatever you did to th-the Black Widow, wh-whatever spe-special method you u-used…ple-please, do it to me. I…I want to be unalive like you are when y-you die.”

“Stop that. We are _not_ talking about this. We aren’t going to just murder you for no reason!” Marco said. “We can still help you, _save_ you. There’s absolutely no reason it needs to be this way.”

“Yes there is.” Tweedle Dee replied brokenly. “I-It wouldn’t even _be_ m-murder. Y-You ca-can’t m-m-murder what’s alre-already half d-dead.” He turned to face them for the first time.

Marco felt his hear stop in his chest.

The left half of Tweedle Dee’s face was boyish, looking almost like a younger version of Ace, minus the freckles and with larger eyes. His dark hair was stained with dirt and blood, clumping and unwashed. His eyes seemed melancholic, desperate, and scared. Scared of himself.

The right half of his head was just skull.

His right eye stared out of the socket widely, no eyelids covering the white. The skull was polished clean, sun bleached and almost perfectly white. The teeth were straight and even, but instead of stopping where a normal human’s would they continued up in a sick perversion of a smile, the teeth stopping just to the right of the eye socket.

Tweedle Dee wept as the monster grinned out of his face.

His torso was soaked in blood, staining the white shirt he wore and spattering onto his arms and neck. And there was no doubt as to whose blood it was.

A saw protruded from his chest, embedded smack through the center of his torso, right through his heart.

“I-I already tr-tried to do it m-myself.” As he spoke, choking as ever, blood dribbled down his chin and now Marco knew the reason for the stutter. It’s pretty hard to talk when there’s a saw through one of your lungs and you’re trying to speak through your own blood. “B-But it didn’t w-work…” As he spoke, he reached down and seized the handle of the saw. Marco moved to stop him, but-

_Squelsh._

The saw was out of his chest and in his hand in one smooth movement. Blood pumped with renewed vigor from his chest, but he seemed to barely notice. Without even flinching he raised it again and, with more force than Marco knew he was capable of, drove it through his skull, right between his eyes. “S-See? It doesn’t wo-work. Th-That’s why I need your help.” He looked between the three of them, eyes pleading. “Save me. P-Please. This is the o-only way to help m-me. I c-can’t hold o-on for much l-longer,” Tears of fear seemed to rise again in his eyes, “and I don’t want to become a monster. P-Please. Help me.” Marco felt helplessly, inexorably torn.

“You can’t do it, you know.” Marco looked to his right.

Cheshire.

“You won’t be capable of killing him. There’s no known method of killing a being of Wonderland in Wonderland itself.” Cheshire’s voice was as nonchalant as if he were discussing the weather. Marco looked to Tweedle Dee only to see he wasn’t moving. At all. _What?_ Marco glanced behind him at Thatch and Whitebeard, but they too were oddly still. “Time here is so easy to twaddle with. Don’t worry, I’ll restart it again once we finish our little chat.”

“No known method. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a method out there.” Marco replied. Cheshire shrugged.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you don’t have time to try everything to find a way.” Cheshire said.

“Don’t have time? I thought we were here to save Ace. _All_ of Ace. That includes Tweedle Dee, and if he truly, truly believes that this is the best way to save him…Ace is mature enough to make that kind of decision.” Marco said.

“’Mature enough’? You’re talking about a _ten-year-old_. But that’s beside the point. You don’t have time because Tweedle Dee is going to die no matter what you do. It’s too late for him. Any minute now he’s going to break and when he does you don’t stand a chance in hell.” Cheshire said.

“I resent that.”

“You say that like it matters. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s going to tear you limb from limb in a matter of minutes. There’s nothing you can do. And if you stick around he’s going to tear you apart.” Cheshire began disappearing again. His cold blue glare burned into Marco. “Confidence and rashness are sides of the same coin. Please remember you’re only the size of a cockroach.” He was gone.

Marco looked back to Tweedle Dee, who was still staring at him pleadingly. The shaking was back in his limbs, so Marco could tell Cheshire had stopped doing…whatever he’d been doing. He considered his options. How could he be sure that Tweedle Dee was really going to snap as soon as Cheshire had said? And there was still the whole moral dilemma of whether they should kill him or not. Not to mention how in hell they’d actually go about it. Marco took a deep breath.

“We should-“ Marco began, only to be cut off.

Screeching. Screeching unlike anything even hell could conjure.

Tweedle Dee turned terrified eyes towards the sky. “Jabberwocky!” He shouted.

Marco turned to look at the sky as a massive shadow fell over the clearing. The twisted, horrendous form of the Jabberwocky was blotting out the sun, its wings twisting and dancing to keep it airborne.

It was headed right towards them.

It was diving at a powerful angle, gaining speed quickly, barely seeming to heed the fast approaching ground. If it continued as it was, when it smacked down there’d be a veritable crater. _Fuck we can’t fight that._ Marco thought, recalling what they’d seen and what Serpent had told them of the Jabberwocky. Without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed Tweedle Dee, hoisting him over his shoulder then spinning, dashing towards Thatch and Whitebeard. They seemed to have the same idea and as soon as Marco drew even with them the three darted into the trees.

They didn’t have time to get very far, but after pelting through the trees a ways they stopped at a narrow shelf, jumping over and behind it, screened by the underbrush. They were still within eyesight of the clearing, not having the time to get further.

The Jabberwocky, against Marco’s initial guess, didn’t come careening into the ground. It managed to pull itself to a stop, hovering momentarily over the ground of the clearing before landing with a dull, earthshaking boom.

Its great, dog-like head swung about on its long neck, gaping, drooling jaws held loosely open in a partial snarl. It remained largely the same as it had been when Ace first made it except for one factor. One very important, very frightening factor.

It was probably three times the size it had been before.

The top of its head as it stood in its hunched, curled position, was probably 70 feet off the ground, and if it straightened its back it’d probably be a good five to ten feet taller. It snuffled about on the ground, sniffing at Tweedle Dee and Dum’s blood, which had saturated the dirt in the clearing. After a moment it raised its eyeless head, swinging it about as though searching for them. _It won’t find us here. As long as we don’t move, don’t make any sound, and don’t reveal our location it’ll leave after a while. The smell of blood is too strong for it to pick up on our scents._

Marco looked to his companions, checking to make sure they were well out of the line of perception. Thatch and Whitebeard nodded to him in turn, and he turned to look at Tweedle Dee.

But he was gone.

Marco stared at the empty place he should have been for a moment longer before looking about desperately, hesitant to call out. _Where the hell did he go?_ Marco felt dawning understanding and turned to look at the Jabberwocky.

Tweedle Dee was walking right towards it.

Marco felt frozen in place and could only watch as he stepped into the clearing. The moment fell into perfect stillness for Marco, the Jabberwocky’s roar as it found Tweedle Dee distant and barely audible. Tweedle Dee, knowing he’d been spotted, turned his head to look back at Marco. He was smiling slightly, sadly.

_It’ll do what you wouldn’t._

_Crunchtearsquelch._

One blow was all it took, one of the Jabberwocky’s lizard-like hands tearing into and through Tweedle Dee. He was sent flying by the blow, and in an instant he was out of their field of view, hidden by the branches of the trees. The Jabberwocky shrieked again and lifted off, probably to pursue its fresh-killed prize. Marco was left staring dumbly at where Tweedle Dee had stood only a moment before.

The only evidence he’d ever been there was one of his shoes, knocked clean off by the force of the blow.

He dimly felt Thatch or Whitebeard pulling at him, saying they needed to move before the Jabberwocky came back. He followed along mutely, still frozen in that instant, that smile Tweedle Dee had cast him before he’d gone.

His face had been whole. No horrific skull visible. He’d rid himself of the monster. And if he wasn’t breaking there was no reason he should die.

But he’d gone and done it anyway. Had done it _smiling._

Marco couldn’t help the solitary tear that slid from his eye.

 

* * *

 

Tweedle Dee lay tangled up in the branches of a tree. How does one get tangled in a tree? Well, it helps when one’s entrails are twisted around all the surrounding branches.

He was on his back, looking towards the sky. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he stared at that blue, at those clouds, which looked back at him, mocking. He’d failed. Even after all that he’d failed.

Why couldn’t he just unlive?

It was too late now. He was going to snap any minute. He could feel his face burning away, being replaced by white bone. He was scared. Scared of this death. The tears kept coming. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Ring around the rosie

Pocket full of posy

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down.” He was getting the tune wrong and it sounded horrifying, but he couldn’t fix it, he was already too far gone.

“Ring around the rosie

What do you suppose we

Can do to fight the darkness

In which we drown?”

“I knew you wouldn’t last much longer.” The voice sent a chill shooting down his spine, but it faded away quickly. He was no longer an enemy. “Why don’t you just let go already and give up?” The voice was mocking, biting. “You failed to escape. And now you’ll never get away. Ever. Get used to avoiding mirrors, I promise you won’t like what you see there anymore.” He laughed and Tweedle Dee felt fresh tears on his face as he stared at the sky. He tried to push that laughing away and live his last few moments in peace. But despair poisoned the air in his lungs and as he stared at the sky his whole world was filled with it.

“Ring around the rosie

This evil thing it knows me

The lost ones surround me” The last of his face was burning away. A sob choked up his throat.

“I can’t fall down.”


	37. Chapter 37

It was only once they were well outside the forest and beyond the hellish screams of the Jabberwocky that they slowed enough to catch their breath. The trees had faded behind them like a monochrome nightmare, and the omnipresent, diffused light that seemed to shine from nowhere, or maybe from everywhere, lost some of the sickly pallor it’d assumed in that forest. It wasn’t a huge change, but it was something.

The trio had stopped on the crest of a hill, meaning to catch their breath and try to figure out which direction they should be heading in. Whitebeard was surveying the terrain, looking for any indication of which way they should go. Marco leaned against a tree nearby.

“You know, you’re going to need to be better than halfway-not-pathetic if you want to save Ace.” At the voice, all three heads snapped up, focusing on its source. Cheshire. Why did he always have to show up just at the perfect time to either frighten or piss Marco the hell off? Whitebeard regarded Cheshire warily, hearing the words of their mental conversation in the woods repeating over and over again in his head. Cheshire’s eyes were disinterested not lingering long on any of the three.

“Why are you here, Cheshire?” Marco asked guardedly. He wished he had a weapon… Cheshire blinked and looked at him, but seemed to pay him no more attention, either as an ally, threat, or simply a person, than one might a beetle that happened to be noticed crawling across a leaf near one’s boot. Not arrogance, but… recognized power. Marco had seen that look before, on a day over six thousand years ago.

The day everything good turned to ash.

(But ash doesn’t burn, oh no. Never.)

The sea, the sky, the barbed harpoons, weighted nets, the metallic tang of blood but not his, never his.

(Can fire drown the sea? In light? In heat? In sorrow?)

Immortal, They said. Eternal, They insisted. Not so eternal as to not feel it when the arrow pierced the flesh, when the hounds tore off everything but the part of them that could scream, the part of them that could die.

(Does Death divide? Je ne sais pas. Personne connait rien, ces jours.)

All except him.

(Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, but life to death. What happened to equality?)

How many of them had he saved over the millennia?

(This is the way the world ends.)

How many wars had he and his averted with words and diplomacy?

(This is the way the world ends.)

How many plagues had been cured, how many hungry filled, thirsty satisfied?

(This is the way the world ends.)

And in that cage, Marco could remember. It was his curse. His legacy. To always, always remember. Marco thought on all the sinners he’d saved, and, lying in that stone box that killed him as slow to act as human conscience, Marco wished to take it all back. To steal away all the lives he’d saved over his years. Because Marco learned to be just like them. Marco learned to generalize.

Marco learned to hate.

(Not with a bang, but a whimper.)

 _Found it, found it, found it!_ Marco was jostled from his memories and that ache as old as breathing by Cheshire’s voice in his head. Cheshire’s eyes were focused solely on him, that icy gaze melting into the elation of leverage, of power, and Marco felt trapped. _I seeeeeeeeeeee you, I seeeeeeeeee you!_ Cheshire’s laugh, unsettling when heard, was infinitely worse in his head. _Secrets suck, huh Marco? I told you before, I’ll tell you again. Run. While. You. Can. Because when I’m finally allowed to get my hands on you I’m going to-_

Cheshire’s head snapped up suddenly, eyes going distant, staring at something in the sky that nobody else could see. For a long moment he remained frozen there, ears twitching minutely as if listening to something. After a moment his brows furrowed sharply and he spoke to no one. “That’s not fair. You’re cheating.” He fell silent for another moment, then, “They didn’t even pass your first little test. What makes you think they’ll even _survive_ this?” Another break. “Yes, you _are_ almost out of time, aren’t you? But going back won’t be better.” Beat. “Torture here or torture in the real world. You know the price of losing the game.” Cheshire’s grin seemed to grow sinister at those words. Beat. Another. Cheshire’s brows furrowed and he gave a sarcastic snarl. “Well then, give that fluffy bunny of yours a big wet kiss on the cheek for me, would you? Tell him I’ll be by later to skin his ribs.” Something in Marco knew the last sentence wasn’t a joke, or even an exaggeration. He had no doubt Cheshire could be dangerous.

Another moment of silence passed, the annoyance passing suddenly and jarringly from Cheshire’s face. “Very well.” A pause. “Yes, yes, I know.” A longer pause. “No.” A beat. “I said no.” Longer. “I won’t say it again.” The sinister purr dropped back into Cheshire’s voice. “If you’re allowed to break the rules and meddle, why can’t I?” His gaze dropped disconcertingly to Marco. “I’ve already seen his mind. Twice, in fact.” A beat. “Since when have I cared about any of that?” A beat. Cheshire grinned challengingly. “I’d like to see you try, creator-dear. Make this move if you like, but I grow closer and closer to checkmate. Are you really so ready to fall?” A pause. Cheshire laughed, long and low. Upon calming, he continued. “ _Trust?_ Trust doesn’t exist! Dormouse is _dead_ , Ace, and so’s Tweedle Dee! He’s back at the Gate, eating Dodo’s skin! _You can’t trust anymore, Ace._ ” A pause, and Cheshire scoffed again. “Don’t try lying. I find it incredible you try to play naïve and innocent after all that’s happened to March Hare. To be honest, I find it amazing that you can. It must all be Queen.” A pause, and Cheshire laughed. “Please! Queen can’t die in these conditions, you know that. He’s been corrupted, though. Manipulated. There’s no getting him back and no use trying. If you really move like you’re planning-“ A tiny pause before Cheshire all-out _roared_. “ _DON’T. INTERRUPT. ME.”_ A slight pause where Cheshire became disturbingly calm. “Much better.” A tiny silence. “No, really. It’s quite alright.” Marco felt an impulse to take a step away from Cheshire. This calm…wasn’t natural. If anything, it was just as intimidating, if not more intimidating than Cheshire’s previous violent anger. Cheshire’s whole persona was a tiny, paper-thin mask of civility covering something awful. Marco didn’t trust Cheshire. Didn’t trust those ice-blue eyes. (Hazel-grey. Hazel-grey. Ace’s eyes everywhere, but not here. Ice-blue. Fire blue. Pain blue. _Why?_ )

“That’s fine. Yes. …Yes, I suppose. …Hmmm. I’m not sure.” A snarky sneer. “Tell Rabbit he can fucking hang himself on his ears.” A pause, the harshness falling from Cheshire’s face. His eyes closed softly. “You remember what I’ve taught you, right? Just…do that.” The conversation seemed to come to an end, and Cheshire turned back to fully face the three pirates again. All were staring at him in a mix of confusion and bewilderment. He looked between them incredulously. “Oh please, you’ve seen Ace and Caterpillar communicate. Working long-distance is harder, so speaking out loud makes it easier.”

“You mean Ace can…interact from wherever he is?” Thatch asked. Cheshire gave a small bob of a nod.

“Yes. Of course, he can’t speak to you. But he can and has been watching,” Cheshire said. “Well…not just watching, either. He’s tampered a bit with the layout of Wonderland. He led you to the Gate, to the forest, to Tweedle Dee, even to here.”

“…What was that you said about a test earlier?” Marco asked. Cheshire turned his head to look at him.

“Tweedle Dee. Tweedle Dee was the test. To see how you’d react, how you’d handle the situation. Before now, you weren’t allowed to know about the test because that would have destroyed the whole point.” Cheshire replied.

“Which is…?” Marco asked.

“To see how you’d react. What your decision would be. How you would treat him.” Cheshire said.

“But…why?” Marco asked. Cheshire cocked an eyebrow.

“You really think the deaths of all these inhabitants of Wonderland, these pieces of Ace’s mind, is going to have no effect on him whatsoever? Ace is worse–much worse—than Tweedle Dee was. Terrified, hurt, alone, trapped. If you couldn’t deal with Tweedle Dee, be kind and accepting, than Ace would have known that there wasn’t even a chance of you aiding him. You’d probably have been rejected from Wonderland. Which, without Ace’s assistance, would leave you comatose and braindead for the rest of your vegetative lives. But, even though you failed Tweedle Dee in almost every sense of the word, he’s decided to let you continue. I don’t pretend to understand his reasoning on this.” Cheshire looked off, towards the horizon. “He’s changed the game for you. It’s both an advantage and a disadvantage. He manipulated and reorganized Wonderland to make your route as short as possible, but consequently you must also now pass through the most dangerous places. Hatter, Caterpillar, Queen…you’re going to encounter them all before you get to Ace. Well…you’ll encounter at least Hatter. And assuming he doesn’t kill you, _then_ you’ll meet Caterpillar. And then, assuming Caterpillar doesn’t kill you, you’ll go on to the Red Palace. And beyond that, Ace.”

“Why can’t Ace manipulate Wonderland so he can meet us?” Thatch asked.

“That’s because once they’re dead, they’re no longer so affable. Nor are they under Ace’s control. It’s like…” Cheshire trailed off, trying to come up with an applicable simile. “It’d be like chess if, instead of removing the dead pieces, they were forced to remain in that square for the rest of the game. Movement on the board has become harder and harder for Ace because, frankly, he’s losing. The dead pieces are everywhere, so the best he could do was clear out the ones he still has control over to get them out of your way. Hatter, Caterpillar, and Queen, though, will not be moved.”

“So they’re dead then?” That could spell serious trouble for them. Dead inhabitants tended to be dangerous.

Cheshire tsked. “Always questions. How many times must I tell you that I don’t answer questions? I said they _will not_ be moved, not that they _cannot._ They each represent a particularly powerful part of Ace’s psyche. The fact that they are such large and influential parts of his personality and mind give them power here, and even Ace, unless he had the aid of the others, doesn’t have real control over them. He grappled – and I mean that in a very literal sense – with them on the way in here and made a few things easier for you, but with the chaos Wonderland is currently in…well, even they are dying. It’s slow, but it’s happening. And death makes us…well, not. Not what we used to be, and at least Caterpillar and Hatter _used_ to be friendly. Queen was never friendly, and what’s happened to him won’t change that. They say a cat has nine lives, Alice, I hope you have as many.”

“Alice?” Thatch asked. “What the hell?” Cheshire blinked indolently.

“You heard the story Ace told. You’re just as useless, blind, ignorant, and deluded as Alice, so I thought I’d summarize all of that in one word.” Thatch opened his mouth to retaliate but Cheshire cut him off. “Oh don’t be like that, princess. The other two are equally moronic. You just happened to voice the stupidest thought.” Thatch huffed, but before he could get into a fight with Cheshire, Marco spoke.

“ _Anyways_ , Cheshire-“ Marco began.

“Before you say something equally stupid or ask a question which I will not directly answer or not answer at all, let me just tell you.” Cheshire cut him off. Marco gave him a confused look. Cheshire didn’t even know what he was about to say, for God’s sake. For someone who hated being cut off, he sure did it a lot. “As I said before, you’ll be passing by Hatter’s domain first.” He turned his head, indicating a direction off to their left. “That way. _Don’t_ try to go around. And don’t dawdle. You’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“Wasted enough time? It’s still…what, mid-afternoon? We can’t have been here for more than a few hours.” Thatch said. Cheshire turned his gaze to him.

“You remember when Ace came here before. Thirty-six hours in Wonderland translated to two weeks in the “real” world. You’ve been here for four hours now, and adding the time you spent in Ace’s memory...well. It’s been three days back on the Moby Dick.”

Dumbfounded silence.

“…You’re serious.” Marco stated. It wasn’t a question.

“Entirely. You’ve been comatose for seventy-two hours. And you have yet to traverse even a fourth of what you’ll need to go through to get to Ace. Oh, and shall I remind you of the predicament Ace is in? He’s losing. Fast. You want him out you need to get in gear.”

“If Ace loses this…game, I’d like to know what happens after that.” Marco half-asked.

“Predictably dense. It’s not a question of ‘if’, _Alice_ , it’s ‘ _when’_. As for what happens…well,” A sinister spark of interest seemed to enter Cheshire’s eyes. “ _Everything_ will be different.” Cheshire said.

“Change… _difference_ …doesn’t necessarily imply harm…” Marco said. Cheshire turned cold, somewhat hostile eyes on him.

“Different denotes neither bad nor good but it certainly means _not the same_. Find the Hatter, Alice. He knows more about ‘different’ than _you._ ”

He burned away and was gone.

* * *

 

Hatter’s domain looked like it had before.

Every detail was exactly as it had been, the almost coo-coo clock design, the dark wood, the shingled roof, the clock tower soaring above it all… it was _exactly_ as it had been before.

All in all it creeped Marco the hell out.

It was like…it was like someone had drawn a picture of the old building and subconsciously fixed all the tiny, barely noticeable imperfections. It was _too_ perfect, _too_ nice, _too_ exactly like it had been before.

The large doors stood exactly as they had before, polished to a shine, brass handles practically _glowing_ in the diffused light.  The large building cast a shadow over the party as they drew close to the doors, and Marco felt a chill settle to his very bones. An unnatural, deadly chill. (Flies in a web. Mice in a trap. Hares in a snare, necks snapped, flesh melted off the bones-) Marco instinctively knew this was wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , but he didn’t hesitate to pull on the door.

Gears turned, the double doors slid smoothly and silently open, and the clock bell rang three times.

The interior of the house was still. Motionless. Poised in unnatural perfection. The three stood outside the open doors, hesitating. The air within was as still and stagnant as a church, as a cave. As a tomb.

_It’ll be yours if you’re not careful._

The light seemed to hesitate as they did, providing watery illumination through the doors and polished windows. Within there were gas lamps, hanging from the ceiling and on the walls, and the place glowed with light. But…it seemed oily. Foul.

As Marco stepped inside it cast an unhealthy glow on his skin. It felt…more solid than light should. Marco almost felt like if he reached out he could close his fist around it, seize something that by its very nature should be ephemeral and was, _was_ the way it should be everywhere except _here_. This building was sick. Marco stepped as quietly as he could on the polished tile floors, but the footfalls still rung out louder than he would have liked. Thatch and Whitebeard were even with him, and as soon as all three of them passed the threshold, the door swung silently shut behind them. The click of the lock in the stillness froze Marco’s soul. He didn’t need to turn back and look at them because, even if he hadn’t seen, he already knew.

There were no handles on this side of the door.

 _(Spiders smile, you know. They smile_ wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide. _)_

Marco took a moment to let his heart steady, to calm himself. _Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Panic and you’re dead. Keep calm and face it. A trap isn’t a trap if you use it to your advantage._

Marco followed Whitebeard and Thatch down the hallway, evenly spaced lamps keeping the spaces so brightly lit shadows were nonexistent. It threw off Marco’s depth perception, and seemed bizarre and unnatural. Besides this, though, there seemed to be no threats. Yet.

The red carpet beneath Marco’s feet was just as plush and uniform as Marco remembered, the walls all painted the same shade, the lamps all exact replicas of each other. Movement became irrelevant in that hallway because it was impossible to measure distance. Everything just repeated over and over again, and Marco couldn’t be entirely sure he was moving at all.

He knew they were in trouble when they reached an intersection.

Here the path branched off in two directions, left and right. Both were identical, the same paint, the same carpet, the same lamps as the hall they had just come down. Marco couldn’t see the end of either, and as they paused at that intersection, he wondered exactly what kind of game this was.

“…I guess it doesn’t matter which way we choose. Either way we’re still equally lost.” Thatch said. Marco couldn’t help but silently agree. Thatch gave a snort. “Anybody have a coin we can flip?”

“If it doesn’t matter, we may as well go right. Keep track of which direction we turn at every intersection, though, otherwise we’ll never get out.” Marco replied.

“This place is either a labyrinth or a maze, and either way, getting lost is the last thing we want. Stay together as a group. _Do not_ get separated. Understand?” Whitebeard asked. Both nodded in return.

Marco took the first step down the new hallway and almost fell flat on his face.

He sprang up instantly, leaping away from what had tripped him, looking all around for whatever trap it logically should have set off.

Marco knew he’d sprung the tripwire and waited anxiously for the repercussions.

Nothing happened.

After a minute and a half, Marco allowed himself to relax, at least somewhat. He approached the wire again, bending down to inspect it. The tiny wire shone in the light, metallic surface reflecting the oily yellow from the lamps. It’d been nearly invisible, too small for even Marco to see, when he’d walked down the hallway, but now as he was looking for it it vaguely stood out against the carpet.

Marco reached for it slowly, glancing up at his two companions before lifting the now-loose wire. He followed its length carefully to one wall, where he could see the formerly-undetectable hook the tiny wire had hung from. There was no switch here, so Marco could half-relax. He turned and followed the wire to the other wall. Instead of having another hook which it hung from, this wire slipped through a tiny, needle-sized hole in the wall, disappearing into the depths of the house.

This string hadn’t been for any trap, it had been to notify their ‘host’ of his new ‘guests’.

Marco turned back to Whitebeard and Thatch, concern evident on his face. He was unwilling to speak in this place. To stir the silence seemed…dangerous. Marco had already completely denied his instincts by setting _foot_ in this place, and that was already turning out so well. He was more willing to listen this time. Marco heaved a sigh. It was too late now for this trip wire, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be more careful in the future.

It wasn’t long after that that Marco began to lose track of everything. Time, which direction he was facing, if he was moving, where he was…once, for just one startling moment, he’d even forgotten _who_ he was. The monotony of the halls, the lamps, the floors, the walls was seeping into Marco’s mind, stewing it in itself and letting him slowly do this to _himself._ It wasn’t long before Marco stopped counting how many times they turned. Eventually, after a certain number of stumbles, they’d even stopped counting the trip wires or making even marginal efforts to avoid them. Nothing happened either way, so what was the purpose?

Marco could feel himself sinking into the ennui and doldrums of his own mind and could do nothing to stop it from happening. Slowly, less and less seemed important to him. Less and less seemed to matter. He was too tired to do any of those things. All he could do was continue to meander down these halls, wondering when exactly he’d die-

The tripwire didn’t wake Marco from this stasis, but the trap it sprung sure as hell did.

It was Thatch who’d sprung it, maybe two feet in front of Marco. Whitebeard was a ways in front of him, having just barely missed the wire himself by sheer luck. But the effect it had was instantaneous, too quick for Marco to move.

A wall seamlessly and impenetrably between him and Thatch.

Marco snapped out of his daze, instantly at the wall, pulling at it, pounding on it, unable to get through. _Damn it damn it DAMN IT. I should have KNOWN this would happen! The other wires were just to make us think they were all duds, they were just decoys, lulling us into false security!_ Marco could dimly hear Thatch and Whitebeard on the other side, pounding against the wall just as he’d been.

Marco forced himself to calm down, to take a deep breath. This wasn’t going to help anything. All he could do was…

“Hey guys,” Marco shouted, loud enough that he was mostly sure they could hear him on the other side. The pounding ceased, at least, so he knew he must have their attention. “It’s no good, I won’t be able to get through.” He dimly heard a reply in Thatch’s voice, too muffled to be articulate words. _Oh shit I hope that’s not what I sound like to them._ “Listen,” Marco increased his volume, just in case. “I’m going to try to loop around. This place is a labyrinth, so there’s no dead ends. You guys start making lefts, I’ll start making rights. It’s the best chance we have of running into each other.” He heard dim what he assumed to be assent come from the other side of the wall. “I’m heading off now.” Marco shouted. “I’m sure we’ll find each other eventually.” Again dim assent.

Marco waited near the wall as the silence descended again.

He took a deep breath and swallowed before turning to face away from the wall. It was looking at that empty hallway, hearing the void of silence that cemented it in Marco’s mind.

_I am alone._

Alone. Nobody to help him, if he should be jumped by Hatter or whatever else was in here. Nobody to keep him sane, keep him animated when his mind began to haze again.

_Hatter planned this all along._

Marco forced his heart to steady, facing that breaking symmetry alone, and stepped forward.

It didn’t take long for him to become hopelessly lost again. He made rights, just as he’d told Thatch and Whitebeard he would, so he wasn’t lost in the physical sense.

The mental sense was another matter altogether.

It wasn’t long before Marco felt as if he were merely walking down the same hallway over and over and over again. The lack of shadows, the exact similarity between everything he saw led to uncertainty. Was this a dream? Was he even moving? Was he even awake? Was he just walking down the same, endless corridor, or was he simply standing still in it?

Marco’s mind quickly sank back into the fog it’d been in before. With the company of the others and their occasional words he had been able to drag himself out occasionally when the doldrums set in, but now, when he was all alone, there was nothing he could do. Eventually, conscious thought began to fade. Sensory perception was obsolete in these conditions, so that went first. After it was urgency. Then emotion. Then memory.

It wasn’t long before Marco stopped making rights.

Marco had just convinced himself that the oily glow from the lamps was not due to fire but to some kind of bioluminescent fish when he came upon the door. It startled him so completely that he actually jumped, as if it was a surprise. It wasn’t that he hadn’t _seen_ the door, per say, but he didn’t _notice_ it until he was standing right before it.

Marco tried to shake off the dregs of his wandering and think clearly, but he still felt delayed. Sleepy. Fuzzy. He didn’t think when he reached out and grabbed the handle.

He didn’t think when he turned it and opened the door.

Inside was a grand hall, long, infinitely tall, vast. Looking up to the ceiling which faded up into blackness before even _beginning_ to slow its assent, Marco wouldn’t have been surprised to see stars up there. After conquering his wonder at the height of the hall, Marco turned to survey the rest of it.

A fireplace crackled at one end of the room, casting a rosy glow on that end. A large, ornate crystal chandelier dangled from the center of the ceiling, the whiter light of the candles stunning in comparison to the oily filth of the light in the halls. None of these things were at all surprising to him, however, and it was only when he turned to look at the center of the room that he found something unexpected.

He’d expected a long, elegant table covered in the purest of white cloths, mirror-shined silverware gleaming off the table, napkins folded in elegant designs by each of the dozens of places, vases of exotic flowers or classic roses pouring color like wine onto the surface from their china vases.

He did _not_ expect to see a small, common table surrounded by four chairs, its dingy surface only partially covered by an old, yellowed doily and the place mats. Plain teacups and saucers sat near each place, as well as a small plate for snacks. In the center of the table on top of the weathered doily was the teapot, a modest work in white china, chipped at the spout.

“Welcome.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere t once and it took Marco a moment to recognize that there was someone seated at the table. The last vestiges of haze had faded from Marco’s mind, replaced with all the caution and vigilance he could muster.

“Please, come join me.” After a moment’s deliberation, Marco complied, approaching slowly. _Don’t piss him off. Don’t piss him off. Whatever you do, don’t piss him off._ It was only once he got closer that he got a good look at Hatter.

He was slouched lifelessly in his chair, arms dangling off the armrests and head hanging forward. He still wore the same deep blue tailcoat and pants, but they were faded now, the velvet worn and old. The top hat still perched on his head, but it too looked like it had seen better years. He looked exactly the same in every way except for the strains of time. But then Marco _saw_ him.

He was a puppet.

Wires protruded from the backs of his hands, the top of his head, the tops of his feet, extending up, up, up, into that unseeable ceiling. His body, head, limbs, all were made completely of wood. The hands were jointed and flexible, his carved fingers clacking together as his arm dangled off the chair.

He had no face.

The front side of his head was entirely smooth and polished to a shine. As Marco drew nearer, the strings tugged and danced and suddenly he seemed animated. He sat up straight in the chair, his arms swinging up only to flop gracelessly onto the table, clattering the cups against their saucers. His movements were jerky, jarring, and unpracticed, as if whoever controlled him had no real idea how to use a puppet. One arm swung up and wide, as if gesturing for Marco to join in.

Marco, unwilling to offend, drew closer still until he stood just beside the table. Hesitantly he pulled back his chair and sat down. Hatter reached out and jerkily seized the teapot, clumsily filling his and Marco’s cups until they nearly overflowed. _Eat nothing. Drink nothing. Don’t trap yourself._ Tea having been poured, Hatter turned to Marco, blank face ‘looking’ right at him.

“And how does one do, this evening?” The voice was strange, as if being played through a machine. Marco forced a polite smile.

“I’m very well, thank you,” he said. Silence fell as Marco continued to watch Hatter (was it Hatter? Or was Hatter somewhere up there in the ceiling controlling this?) subtly and closely. Hatter, or the puppet, made no attempt at stealth, instead keeping its ‘face’ angled towards Marco at all times. It had no eyes, but Marco could feel someone watching him. After the moment began to stretch, Marco cleared his throat and spoke.

“So…where’s March Hare?” The puppet seemed to jerk, head spinning to ‘look’ straight ahead.

“It isn’t late anymore.” Hatter reached woodenly into one of its pockets and withdrew something. It took Marco a moment, to recognize the tattered ear for what it was. “See?” Marco felt sick with dread. They were too late, Hatter had already died and he was less than _two feet away_. If Hatter attacked, Marco was screwed. Oh so very, _very_ screwed. He forced a smile and gave an amicable nod.

“Ah yes. Uhm…very…nice.” Hatter tucked the ear back into his pocket. Silence fell again. Hatter watching _again._

“…Why does one not drink their tea?” Hatter asked. The tone was as light as before, but Marco could feel a darker undertone beneath it.

“Well…you see, you’ve caught me in a rather awkward spot. My friends and I actually _just_ had tea before we came here, so while I appreciate your hospitality, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” The lie flowed easier than he’d expected. Hatter stared at him for another moment before speaking again.

“It didn’t drink its tea either,” he said. “Not one drop.” His voice was going oddly mechanic, apathetic. He cackled abruptly. “Not anymore, see, not anymore!” He turned his face to instead look at the teapot, facing it the same way he had Marco. Marco waited another anxious minute then hesitantly reached for the teapot. Hatter didn’t move. It was as if he didn’t even notice. Marco wondered if whoever was pulling the strings had withdrawn for a moment. Slowly, gradually enough not to startle, Marco lifted and brought the teapot to himself. Hatter continued staring at the place it had been. Marco pulled off the lid almost hesitantly, wondering what, exactly, would be inside.

March Hare’s dead eyes stared up at him from the bottom of the pot, jaw slack in a silenced scream. His severed head was too big to float freely in the pot, and was instead wedged near the bottom. He’d been dead for a while, no blood seeping out of the injury that had separated head and shoulders. Grey brain matter slipped out his ears, polluting the dregs of tea with chunky slime. Marco swallowed the bile he felt in his throat and replaced the lid, setting the teapot back in its original place. When he looked up he flinched wildly away.

Hatter was no longer in his seat.

His ‘face’ was less than three inches from the side of Marco’s head, shoulders strangely slumped, arms unnaturally loose. “Oh no.” The voice was monotone, entirely dead. “It saw. It saw.” Marco turned his head slowly to look at Hatter just as Hatter moved.

_Whirrrrr click._

In the moment between the move and the attack, Marco could do nothing but widen his eyes in horror.

* * *

 

Thatch and Whitebeard had been up and down what might as well have been the same hallway for a _long_ time now. They’d established a system where every time they came to an intersection and turned, they’d have a brief conversation, generally about something meaningless but that required some brain function, just to keep from going mad in the silence.

When they came upon the door it was entirely by accident.

They hesitated before opening it, relieved to see something different, but unsure of what lay beyond. On one hand, perhaps Marco was on the other side, or perhaps an exit. On the other…they didn’t know if Hatter had died yet, and if he had and was on the other side of the door, it would be in their best interests to stay away.

It was the scream that decided them.

Whitebeard didn’t know whose it was, the amount of pain in the voice limited its distinction, but he knew that whoever they were, they needed help, pronto. Whitebeard flung open the door, through it in a moment, and took half a moment to get a basic survey of the room, trying to locate the source of the voice.

Table. Walls. Fireplace. Chandelier. Chairs.

And Hatter.

He made no move as they entered the room, as if he didn’t notice them. He was once more slouched in his chair, facing out towards the room. Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed. It couldn’t have been him that screamed. He had no mouth. The scream had come from in here, and as far as Whitebeard knew, it was just them and Hatter, which left one candidate for the scream.

Marco.

Whitebeard felt his parental protectiveness surge and found it a miracle he didn’t fly across the room and pop Hatter’s head clean off. He did storm closer, making no attempt at stealth. Hatter didn’t move, remaining slumped in his chair. Dimly, behind his concern for his son, Whitebeard wondered if maybe someone else had been here and had killed Hatter and done…something with Marco, but first things fucking first, he needed to deal with Hatter.

 “Where. Is. Marco?” Whitebeard’s voice was cold, furious. A long moment of silence, then the strings tugged and Hatter came alive, sitting up straight and tall in his chair, limbs flailing until they flopped to the table, immediately after assuming a position of nobility and elegance, resting woodenly on the teacup and saucer. His head was the last to animate, snapping up and angling towards Whitebeard and Thatch. A long moment of silence passed before Hatter moved again.

“Little birdie blue breast?” The wires danced again and Hatter rose, arms hanging strangely before him until the strings attempted to withdraw them. It was a sloppy attempt, and they only ended up spread like wings, the left higher than the right. He hung from the wires as they dragged him along the floor. His feet dragged against the carpet, wooden joints clacking as he bobbed. He stopped a short ways from the pair and the string made him practically slap himself in the face as he assumed a theatrical look of contemplation. “Little birdie blue breast?” he said again in that tinny, disembodied voice.

“Tell me where Marco is or you die.” Whitebeard snarled.

The wires sagged and Hatter’s limbs flopped, his head lolling on his chest, and a tiny, different voice echoed with laughter. “Already done, already done.” It hiss-sang. The strings reanimated, tugging him back to attention. “Little birdie blue breast came to sit by me. He whistled very nicely but he did not drink his tea.” The little voice sang, louder than before. He rose slightly off the ground, the wires pulling him higher, limbs dangling aimlessly by his sides.

“No more games! Where. Is. Marco? What have you done with him?”

“Little birdie blue breast tried to flee the floor. It couldn’t get away from me…” Hatter’s head did a full 180. _Whirrr click._

This side of his head wasn’t bare.

Hatter grinned, eyes wide, head at a horrible angle on its limp thread.

“It doesn’t whistle anymore.”


	38. Chapter 38

Thatch and Whitebeard stared at Hatter. Thatch felt as if time had frozen, his heart pausing mid-beat. _Marco…Marco_ can’t _be dead. It’s just…not possible. He’s_ Marco _._ Hatter, meanwhile, seemed far more self-animated than before, the puppet strings hanging fairly loose as he seemed to straighten, grinning head cocking slightly to the side.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like that answer?” His voice was different. More like it had been before Mr. Savage. Which was to say, it sounded like Ace. The adult Ace. His grin seemed to widen. “Did you really expect a different result?”

“Where’s Marco? What did you do to him?!” Thatch asked breathlessly, still feeling as if the air wasn’t really filling his lungs. Hatter laughed.

“Oh. So possessive of your pets, aren’t you?” He laughed again, breathy and wild. “Why bother? Animals are animals. Humans are animals. Animals are worthless. Life is worthless. Birdie blue-breast didn’t matter. Still doesn’t, now that it’s-“

“Stop talking in that voice.” Whitebeard’s arms were near quivering with rage, and he stared down, eyes shadowed. Hatter’s head spun slowly clockwise.

“What’samatter, DADDY???” He laughed again and reached up, pulling his head off. “Am I upsetting you?” Even as he held his head, gripping it on either side, it continued to spin. “Well sorry, but it’s a little hard to be civil when I’m DEAD.” Hatter shouted. He seemed suddenly, furiously angry, and threw his head into the floor with enough force that the stones cracked. “AND LET’S THINK WHICH PRODIGAL SON OF YOURS MIGHT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT.” He retrieved his head, reaffixing it to his neck upside down.

“What are you talking about?” Whitebeard asked guardedly. Hatter grabbed his head and lurched it sideways so it was marginally more upright. He spun abruptly, turning back to face the table. He grabbed the doily.

“I always loved this magic trick.” His voice shifted abruptly back to the strange, tinny voice from before, high pitched and happy. “So much fun. So much fun. So much fun! And everyone’s happy these days!” He laughed, a strange, inorganic sound as he lurchingly dragged the doily out from under the teapot. He didn’t move it fast enough, however, and the teapot spilled its contents all over the table. The putrid mess of tea and March Hare’s brain matter splashed out, spilling over the edges of the table. Hatter only giggled.

“Where’s Marco? What did you do to him? Tell me now!” Whitebeard demanded. Hatter spun to face him and slid-dragged across the floor towards him, bobbing and giggling.

“Oh no! Oh no! He’s angry!” Hatter laughed. He cut off abruptly, smile dropping from his face, head tilting slightly, eyes wide. “It really aught to smile more.” His voice had gone deadly cold.

Hatter, too fast to dodge, reached out and grabbed Whitebeard’s face, pulling it into a smile, almost tearing his skin with the force. Whitebeard tried to struggle, to pull back, but Hatter’s grip on his head was like steel. His fingers seemed to have almost elongated, wrapped all the way around the back of his head, his thumbs pinning Whitebeard’s mouth into that huge crescent. Hatter grinned again, one eye roving slowly towards the ceiling, the other staring into Whitebeard’s. “That’s better.”

Thatch tried to move to Whitebeard’s aid, but Hatter lashed out with his foot, catching Thatch not with the appendage but the attached wire and flinging him across the room and into a wall with enough force to put cracks in the stone. Hatter continued to grin at Whitebeard. “Smile! Smile! Smile!” His one roving eye was spinning in slow circles, looking at something above. Abruptly he shuddered, eye snapping back in place. His head fell limp, hanging off his neck, face out of sight. He inhaled once, his breath hitching in his throat. “Smile. It hurts so much less that way…” His voice was barely audible, and again he sounded more human, like Ace. Whitebeard barely heard him, but his eyes flicked to Hatter’s face in confusion. Hatter began mumbling to himself.

“Two plus two is five. Two plus two is five. Two plus two is five. Two plus two is five. Smile. Remember that and smile.” Hatter murmured. Whitebeard knew he was saying it to himself, didn’t think Hatter was even really aware of the fact that he had spoken out loud. But it had an instant effect on him. He shuddered again, and his head popped back up, eyes wild and distant again, massive grin on his face. “It’s got to smile or it wil-“

“Three plus four is seven.” Whitebeard’s words came out blurred, what with Hatter still holding his face in that false smile, but they were clear enough to be understood. Hatter’s right eye twitched, and he remained frozen for a moment.

He flinched wildly back from Whitebeard, releasing his face and backing away. His eyes were wide and he looked scared. “Stop it.” he whispered. Whitebeard rubbed feeling back into his abused face and took a step forward. Hatter shrinking back further, clutching his head and bent over, nearly cowering.

“What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never once in a thousand years?” Whitebeard asked. Hatter seemed to almost flicker, shifting, for but an instant to something else before returning to his puppet form.

“Shut up!” he screeched. He lashed out, trying to catch Whitebeard with wire, to fling him away as he had Thatch. Whitebeard dodged, and continued.

“I know you can answer this, Hatter. I know because I know Ace and I know Ace could answer it. You’re logic, so come on. Think.” Again Hatter flickered, seeming almost to blur. He shrieked and curled further in on himself.

“Stop it! You’re hurting me! STOP!” Hatter grew truly frenzied, lashing out randomly, puppet wires slashing through the air with enough force to cut a man in half. “I WANT TO DIE LEAVE ME BE IT HURTS HERE LEAVE ME ALONE I DON’T WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO BE GONE ACE KILLED ME ALREADY LEAVE ME ALONE I DON’T BELONG HERE ANYMORE-“

“One plus two plus one plus two plus one plus two plus one plus two. How many times did I multiply?” Whitebeard said, voice somewhat strained as he fought to dodge the flailing wires. Hatter shrieked and spasmed, clutching his head and contorting. He grew abruptly still, wires falling limp.

“You didn’t.” His hands covered his face, his back hunched, curled in on himself. “You only added. You didn’t multiply.” His voice, Ace’s voice, was weak. He shuddered. “…Damn you forever, you only added.”

He changed.

His body shifted back from the wood of the puppet, becoming flesh once more. The wires, formerly driven harmlessly through unfeeling wood, were now impaled through his hands and feet, stabbed cruelly into his neck and back. Blood dripped from the injuries, kept open by the movements of the wires. His suit was drab, faded, worn. He convulsed again, a sound somewhere between a cry of pain and a sob choking up his throat.

He straightened slowly, removing his hands from his face.

Whitebeard felt a pang of guilt upon seeing Hatter’s face, what he had turned Hatter back into.

Wood was unfeeling. Wood didn’t have skin that could be torn, couldn’t even imagine pain. Hatter had been beyond suffering in his half-death. But now…

Hatter’s eyes were sewn open, unblinking and wide. One, the right one, was cloudy and deformed, like someone had poured some kind of corrosive chemical in it. Indeed, the skin under that eye bore burn marks as if splashed with acid. Tears fell from his left eye. His mouth was pinned up using barbed fishhooks, held in a smile so wide the flesh of his lower lip had torn all the way to his chin, exposing white bone. Blood still fell from the hooks, and every time he moved his face they tore through more.

He was in agony.

And he looked just. Like. Ace.

He collapsed to his knees, and instantly, automatically, with no coherent thought, Whitebeard found himself by Hatter’s side, supporting him. Hatter tried to push him away, and turned, bending over further. He gave a wet cough, then another, then retched.

Blood and shards of glass poured from Hatter’s mouth, the sharp slivers sticking into the floor. Hatter hung limply in Whitebeard’s arms, and if they weren’t in Wonderland Whitebeard would have said he was dead.

But this _was_ Wonderland. And Wonderland was far crueler than any world that could be escaped by something as trivial as death.

Hatter straightened, wiping his mouth. He pulled out of Whitebeard’s grasp. “Fuck you.” His voice was weak and hoarse. “I hope you’re happy now.” He fought to stand, swaying and shaking. He limped (a massive nail had been driven through his left knee) back to the table and collapsed into the chair, using the already stained doily to wipe some of the blood from his face. He coughed again weakly, fresh spots of crimson appearing on the doily, but didn’t cough up any more glass. When he settled again, he turned to Whitebeard and a touch of bitter admiration entered his eyes.

“You know, you’re cleverer than I gave you credit for. Using my identity to force me back together again.” Across the room, Thatch groaned, coming conscious again. Hatter and Whitebeard both turned to look at him as he sat up, rubbing his head. He looked at Hatter and blinked.

“Umm…Did I miss something?” Hatter blinked indolently.

“Everything, dear. As always.” He glanced Thatch up and down. “Though you could be missing a lot more.” Hatter doubled over in another fit of coughing, blood gushing from his mouth.

When he straightened, one of the fishhooks holding his mouth in that smile had torn loose, leaving the smile lopsided and a massive gash in the side of Hatter’s face, exposing teeth. A flap of flesh now flopped down from just below his cheekbone. Although he seemed in pain, he didn’t seem particularly perturbed or horrified by this fact. Almost nonchalantly he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a sewing kit. His one clear eye focused on Whitebeard even as he threaded a needle.

“It might have worked on me, but you won’t be able to pull this off on the others.” The air whushed out his torn open cheek, leaving the words breathy and almost unrecognizable, but Whitebeard was able to piece together what Hatter said.

“That doesn’t matter. I take it you’re no longer a threat to us?” Whitebeard asked. Hatter laughed, tugging the string between his fingers, testing its strength.

“Not for now. But I’ll die again shortly. Probably for good this time.” Seemingly satisfied, he raised the needle to his face, using the other hand to reposition the flesh of his cheek where it should be.

“Why?” Whitebeard asked.

“It’s all Ace.” Hatter pierced the skin of his face with the needle, wincing slightly as the thread dragged through the hole. “He doesn’t want me around anymore. But he can’t make up his damn mind. Keeps defying logic only to employ it the next instant.” His words sounded strange what with him resewing his face, but he was understandable. “Nothing is true, everything is permitted, remember? Well here’s the problem: I’m truth. So what the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t die because of Ace’s methods of convincing himself of that little mantra, but I can’t live because there _is_ no logic because, according to _dear_ Altair, there is _nothing_. So I’m stuck in a state of being perpetually alive and perpetually dead. Stuck between. And let me assure you,” Hatter, finished sewing, tied off the thread and snapped it. “I’m far worse off for it.” Hatter dabbed at the tiny beads of blood that had formed from the puncture wounds of the needle. The stitches traced the grotesque smile the hook had previously held his face in, reaffixing his cheek to his face. “I can’t live. I can’t die. When I’m alive I’m in agony, when I’m dead, I lose control. Both situations are unbearable to me.” Hatter seemed to grow angry. “ _This_ , Daddy dearest, _this_ is HELL.” Whitebeard’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That’s twice now you’ve called me that. Why?” Whitebeard asked. Hatter looked up from picking at the wood grain of the table. He too looked confused.

“…We’ve been calling you that for a year now. Is it wrong? You never seemed to take issue with it before. I’ll admit it still doesn’t make sense to me, but hey. Ace is the one that calls the shots...” Hatter said, cocking his head to the side slightly, face the picture of befuddlement.

“What are you talking about? Ace doesn’t call me that. Not for another ten years, at least.” Whitebeard said. Hatter’s eyes widened, faced morphing into an expression of surprise.

“Oh!” Hatter raised a hand to his face. “Oh I see. You haven’t figured it out yet.” he said.

“…Figured what out?” Thatch asked. Hatter half laughed but cut off when the sutures in his face pulled against his skin. He looked between Thatch and Whitebeard.

“It explains so much! I was a little surprised when you weren’t freaking out about everything down here. I mean, it makes sense that this place’d be fucked up after what Hare put Ace through, right? So you just pass it off as trauma and sweep it under the rug of things that ‘get better’ between then and now. That _is_ what you’ve been doing, right?” He shook his head. “Aww, you aughta know better. Assumptions like that _hurt_ , Daddy.” Hatter shuddered again. He was slipping. Losing control. Ace was going to use Synthesis again. And that was a ticket to the other side for Hatter. “Birdie blue breast made assumptions like that too.” The words were slipping from his mouth like poison, he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t control them. Wasn’t even imagining them himself. He was the puppet, in control of nothing, not even himself. “He assumed I was _sane_.” Hatter doubled over, pressing his hands against his skull, trying to regain control. He felt himself laugh, the movement tearing the sutures in his face, and tasted blood as his tongue moved to swipe it from the injury. The wires, formerly lying limp across the floor, began to twist and dance, tugging against his limbs and torso. Hatter, in a last-ditch effort, reached out and grabbed the fork from the table, driving it through the back of one of his hands.

The pain managed to bring him back to clarity and he clutched at it, twisting the fork harshly when he felt himself fading again. Pain he could understand. Pain could always be rationalized. Pain was the nerve-endings in one’s body sending signals to the brain that induced an unpleasant sensation in an attempt to get the body to stop doing whatever it was doing that caused the pain in the first place. There was no other option for what pain ‘could be’ or ‘should be’, pain only _was_.

“Hatter.” At Whitebeard’s voice, Hatter’s head snapped up, maniacal grin falling from his face. …Well, as much as it could with one side of it still hooked up near his eye. Hatter smiled weakly, rubbing his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m…not what I once was.” He turned his gaze to the table, sighing sadly at March Hare’s head and the sludgy grey brain matter still slipping from his ears. “…All I wanted was another tea party, but I always kill all the guests.” He said absently, swirling his fingers in the mess. “I wasn’t responsible for Dodo’s death, not entirely, anyway, but March Hare, Ace’s innocence? That’s on me. What shaking, shivering piece of Ace’s innocence was left after Hare elegantly and eloquently shredded him was destroyed by Ace’s logic. He _reasoned_ that he didn’t have any more innocence after what happened. And so he didn’t. Because of me.” He leaned his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. “Even Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are partially my fault. ‘Morality? How can that exist?’ Ace asked himself. ‘Human kind is supposed to follow the rule of morality, yet there are more people who break it than people who don’t. Morality isn’t the rule, it’s the exception.’ And so just like that, Carpenter and I tore them apart.” Hatters fingers were stained with March Hare’s brains and cold tea. He snorted. “Carpenter. What a mess he is. He’s all of Ace’s memories of Hare and his torment. As the years progressed, he just became every negative memory Ace had.”

“What about the others?” Whitebeard asked. This was a good chance to get information. Maybe they could pull a stunt later like he did with Hatter, reviving them through the quality they represented. Hatter turned weary, bleak eyes to him.

“Curious, are we? Fine. Dormouse was Ace’s trust. Mr. Savage, Ace’s fear, shredded him like _tissue paper._ I lost track of him after he died. I don’t know where he is now. Mock Turtle was Ace’s happiness, but as of yet he’s taken up a new hobby.”

“Dare I ask what that is?” Thatch asked. Hatter shifted his disinterested eyes to him.

“Being soup.”

“…Oh.”

“Caterpillar…well, you’ve seen Ace’s memories. Caterpillar’s creativity. I expect you’ll encounter him eventually. He and I don’t really get on, so I haven’t met him recently. Let’s see…who else…”

“Queen?” Whitebeard prompted. Hatter absently began to write on the table using March Hare’s brains as paint.

“Queen…Queen is a little less easily quantifiable. However, there’s one word I feel summarizes him nicely, despite Ace’s viewpoint on the whole ‘religion’ thing.”

“And that would be…?” Whitebeard asked. Hatter seemed to be losing interest, and if they couldn’t hold his interest he might shift back again. And that would really suck. Hatter looked up to lock gazes with Whitebeard.

“Queen is Ace’s sin. Queen is the part of Ace that can kill. The part that lies fluently, sometimes more elegantly than truth. Queen is Ace’s pride as well, so he took a real sledgehammer to the kneecap with the whole ‘rape’ thing. But he’s also Ace’s wrath, so he’s grown quite a bit as well. He was harder, surprisingly, for Mr. Savage to get to, but he’s been corrupted and you can’t bring him back.” Hatter snorted. “Survival instinct gets the best of the worst of us, it seems.” Hatter was piddling in March Hare’s brains again, occasionally poking at the deceased creature’s cloudy, vacant eyes.

“Cheshire?” Hatter froze, stained fingers hovering above March Hare’s mouth.

He was tense, his breathing frozen in his throat. His hand began to shake minutely. “We don’t talk about Cheshire.” He whispered. His eyes were wide as he stared into the shiny mess he’d made, his heart clenching in his chest. Hatter swallowed thickly.

“What? What does that mean?” Thatch asked.

Hatter shook his head. “No. No I can’t tell you.” He curled in on himself, clutching his arms and breathing raggedly. “I can’t. I can’t. You can’t know. You’re never supposed to know…”

“Hatter-“ Whitebeard started.

“No! Cheshire…” Hatter was visibly shaking. “Cheshire’s the _secret_. You can never, _never_ ask about Cheshire.” Hatter’s head snapped up and he looked around wildly, as if expecting some kind of threat. He turned pleading eyes back to Whitebeard. “Please, don’t ask this of me. Ace made me promise not to tell but I can’t lie. Ace doesn’t want you to know.”

“Why?” Thatch asked. “What could Cheshire possibly repres-“

“He cares about you. He doesn’t want you to _see_ because you won’t want him anymore. You’re his _family_ , but if you knew our dirty fucking secret that’d be thrown out in a moment.” Hatter seemed almost disgusted.

“…That’s the third time you’ve referred to us as-“ Whitebeard started.

“Would you stop being so fucking _blind?_ You, with your clever riddles, your questions that I’m bound to answer but sworn to never broach, you, who in every _fucking_ way has made my life WORSE?” Hatter’s snarl turned into a sneer. “Alrighty then, Pops, let’s burst your naïveté.” Hatter leaned forward, slamming his palms onto the wood of the table. He was smiling cruelly at them.

“This isn’t just the Wonderland of 10 years ago, although it looked like this then too. No…

…This is what it looks like _NOW._ ”


	39. Chapter 39

Thatch was left staring at Hatter in shock for the second time within an hour. “What?” He truly couldn’t comprehend. He must have misheard Hatter. There was just no way that this… _hell_ could really be his friend’s mind. “…You’re lying.” Hatter laughed coldly.

“Ah, but I can’t. If you were at all competent you could have figured that out by now.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, smiling frigidly, eyes hard. “Whatsamatter, don’t like the truth?” Thatch shook his head, taking a stunned step back. Ace…Ace was happy. …Wasn’t he? He laughed and talked and acted perfectly normal. There was no way all of it could be concealing _this._ All those smiles, all those jokes, all that joy and companionship, could that really come from someone whose mind looked like this? Thatch couldn’t believe it. But he couldn’t find evidence to deny it either.

“H-How?” he stuttered. “When Ace got shrunk, all his memories were repressed…wouldn’t that have repressed you too?”

“That little magic rock didn’t seem to know what to do with us. Ace got shrunk, but we didn’t. Not that it matters. When Ace left us to rot after that oh-so-touching moment on the cliff, everything went to hell. He threw us away, but he didn’t toss out his fear. With his homemade coping mechanism gone, Ace slowly became consumed by paranoia. It was a good thing Shanks stuck around for a while, because not three weeks after he got home, Ace had a little psychotic break. Tried to kill himself. Again. They took him back on the ship for another two weeks. It was a miracle they didn’t decide to strap him in a straightjacket, the shape he was in. Ricky got him on antidepressants, though to be honest they didn’t really help. Ace only pulled it together because Luffy snuck on the ship one day. We all had to pull hard to get Mr. Savage away long enough for him to act normal enough not to scare Luffy.” Hatter shook his head. “You think you’ve seen violence? You think you’ve seen bloodshed? You wouldn’t _believe_ the horror of that day, all of us against Mr. Savage, Ace fighting so hard to be a big brother to Luffy. We almost lost. We almost lost _everything._ It was only because Mr. Savage made a mistake that we were able to win at all.”

“And that would be?”

“He told Ace to kill Luffy. Strangle him. Break his neck. Brain him against the floor. Anything.” Hatter closed his eyes, shaking his head. “And for half an instant Ace almost did it too. But Ace, down to his very core, is a guardian. Mr. Savage managed to smash himself against the one thing in Ace that would never change. Ace regained some power of Mr. Savage that day, and it’s only because of that that he’s still alive today. Over the next ten years, Ace made another two attempts on his own life. The only reason he was unsuccessful is because of sheer luck and serious struggling on my and the Black Widow’s part.” Hatter looked between Whitebeard and Thatch.

“And then he met you.” Hatter shook his head, wry smile coming to his face. “He’s tried so hard to pull his shit together since he met you guys. But it’s too late. It was too late since the moment he set foot on Hare’s ship. That man left scars that will _never_ fade. Altered Ace’s whole psyche. There’s no ‘getting better’ from the psychological damage Hare wrought. So he smiles and laughs as well as he can, all the while hiding the festering sore that is his soul. And you should be glad Ace’s masks are so unshakable now, because you have yet to see the _real_ horror of Wonderland.” Hatter chuckled softly. “But you will. You will. Because you were _stupid_ enough to let Ace see Hare again, and vice versa. So the masks are all going to fall off sooner or later.”

“…What do you mean?” Whitebeard asked guardedly. Hatter took a breath, and seemed to chew on his tongue a moment before speaking.

“Some of Hare’s crew got away, you know. Bailed on lifeboats before Shanks got there. Including, but not limited to, eight of the men that came to Ace’s cell with Hare. Ace made it a little personal goal to track them all down. We’re down to three. Dare you ask what happened to the other five?” Hatter was smiling coldly. “I mean, yes you can obviously deduce that we killed them, but…well. You would have seen the story in the news, if there’d been anyone left alive to explain it to a reporter.” Hatter snorted and shook his head. “Mr. Savage…that fool. He likes to think that when all of Ace’s masks fall away, his face is the one underneath them all.”

“He’s wrong?” Hatter turned his gaze to Whitebeard.

“Dead wrong. And even now, he fails to understand what’s so _painfully_ clear.” Hatter cocked his head, regarding them. “A lot like you in that way.”

“And what is it that he’s missing?” Hatter seemed to consider them for a moment before a slow smile crawled onto his face. He inhaled-

 _Boom_.

The crystal chandelier tinkled minutely as the whole room shook. Hatter’s brows furrowed and he turned, facing the opposite end of the room, the direction of the noise.

“The hell?” Thatch asked. “You expecting any more guests?”

“No. You were the only ones I had planned on seeing today.” Hatter said, still facing the direction of the noise.

“Wait, you were expecting us?” Hatter cast a sidelong glance at Thatch and smirked.

“Of course. Mr. Savage told me you were coming. He also recommended the trap for birdie blue-breast.” Hatter’s smile widened. “He was right, too. You’re much easier to pick off when you’re alone.”

_Boom._

The room shook with more force this time, the chandelier jingling like church bells. The sound was louder too, closer.

_Boom._

Faster this time, and closer again. The teakettle rattled on the table, and March Hare’s head rolled off, falling to the floor with a crunchy splat.

 _BOOM_.

The wall in front of them broke as if struck by a massive blow, rubble and dust clouding the air. Thatch and Whitebeard shielded their heads and eyes against any incoming rubble but Hatter didn’t. He didn’t even flinch when he took a bowling ball sized piece of rock to the head, the force of the blow bending his head far past where it should naturally stop. He merely absently reached back and snapped it back in place, waiting for whatever was coming through the wall. The dust began to settle.

“You son of a _bitch_. Do you have ANY idea how long it took me to find my way back here?!” Whitebeard and Thatch’s eyes widened at the voice and they straightened instantly, searching for its source.

Their surprise wasn’t anything compared to Hatter’s.

He stood stock still, eyes wide. Any color had drained from his face, and his mouth hung slack. “What?” he said breathlessly. “No, that’s not possible.” He took a step back. “You can’t. You can’t be. You’re dead. I _tore you apart._ ”

“Well, knock knock motherfucker.” Blonde hair. Blue eyes. _Angry_ blue eyes.

“No. No human could have survived how much blood you lost. It’s- no. You _can’t be here._ ” Hatter was staring at the silhouette with wide eyes. The dust settled.

Marco stepped fully into the room.

Hatter stared at him, appalled. His breathing was shallow and fast. “You can’t be here. You’re dead. You _have to be dead._ I don’t understand-“ Hatter’s eyes widened at his own words and he cocked his head to the side. “…I don’t understand.” He repeated quietly. A moment of silence passed.

Hatter threw his head back and _screamed_.

The puppet wires jumped to life, jerking back up to the ceiling. Hatter was lifted off his feet, still clutching his head and shrieking like a banshee. The wire connected to his spine jerked once and he went still. He dropped back to the floor, the clack of wood replacing the expected thud of flesh.

“Marco! Are you alright?” Thatch sprinted over to Marco, looking him up and down for any injuries. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “…You’re not even hurt.” Marco clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

“I’ll explain everything later, but right now I think we’ve got other problems.” He nodded in the direction of Hatter.

The wires were moving again.

His left arm was lifted first, his torso hanging from it limply. His right arm came up next, lifting Hatter to eye level.  The wires danced and Hatter was left standing oddly, perfectly straight. His head snapped up, huge eyes and wide, carved, painted smile filling his face. He turned to Marco.

“…I’ll have to make up a new verse now, birdie blue-breast. But that can wait.” Hatter’s speech was strange in this form, as his mouth didn’t move. The tinny, inorganic sound seemed to simply go, emanating from his chest like a speaker. He turned back towards the table. “I suppose we’ll have to start this game from the beginning again.” He bent mechanically at the waist, reaching out and righting the teakettle and cups. Marco started to take a step towards Hatter.

Hatter, without even turning, lashed out with his right arm. The wire attached snapped out like a whip, wrapping around Marco’s throat and lifting him off the ground. Hatter’s head did a slow 180 and he stared at Marco.

“It’s not your turn yet, birdie blue-breast.” His voice was cold. He threw his arm to the side, the length of the wire magnifying the force and sending Marco hurtling through the air. Hatter released him, letting him sail through the air and into the wall. Marco crumpled briefly at its base before struggling to rise, wincing.

“Marco!” Whitebeard moved to take a step towards Marco.

“It’s not your turn either!” Hatter shrieked. He cocked his head to the side until it was completely inverted. “It’s got to play by the rules or else we will all go mad!” Hatter laughed like this was the best joke he’d ever heard. Whitebeard remained where he was, though, unwilling to provoke the dead Hatter.

“Hatter, listen to me.” Hatter had turned away and began humming, resetting the tea party. He didn’t pause at Whitebeard’s voice, gave no indication that he had heard. “Mr. Savage doesn’t have any power over you. You don’t have to do what he says.” Here Hatter did pause. He straightened again, top hat sitting skewed on his head.

“Of course not. Mr. Savage doesn’t have power over anything.” Hatter laughed again. “And boy does that PISS HIM OFF.” He resumed his earlier motions, this time picking up the doily and wringing it out, trying to squeeze his own blood out of the stained linen.

“What? Aren’t you proof enough that Mr. Savage _does_ have power?” Thatch asked. Hatter continued moving, but did deign to answer.

“Well sure Mr. Savage can fuck this place up as much as he wants, but then you’ve got to realize: none of this is real. Fucking up nothing is fucking up nothing is nothing.” Hatter laughed again. “See? He’s done _nothing_. And only the powerless do nothing. That’s why he so desperately wants to be his own, why he so wants to truly control Ace. Because _then_ he would _prove_ that he had power.” Marco was standing by this point and Hatter turned to him.

“You’re strange. I don’t like you. You frighten me. I fear what I don’t understand.” His voice abruptly turned happy again. “So it’s time for you to unlive now, okay?”

Hatter slid-dragged across the floor towards Marco at blinding speed. Marco braced, ready to dodge or retaliate, but Hatter was cut short as Whitebeard’s fist connected squarely with his torso. The force sent Hatter flying back into a wall, smacking into it a good 15 feet above the ground. He remained there, still.

Whitebeard turned to Marco. “You alright, son?” Marco nodded.

“Yeah.” He sighed, dropping his head for a moment. “Look, I know you both are curious about how I’m uninjured and why Hatter was so freaked out to see me…well, alive. It’s-“

Hatter’s laughter cut him off.

He was tapping one finger rhythmically against the wall he was partially embedded in. “So it wants to play too?” Hatter moved impossibly fast, seeming to almost teleport behind Whitebeard, smiling face right beside Whitebeard’s ear. “That can be arranged.” He whispered.

Marco’s eyes couldn’t track the speed of the blow as Hatter, mimicking the blow Whitebeard had dealt him earlier but faster, sent Whitebeard flying back into the mantle of the fireplace. Whitebeard collided with a grunt, but Hatter had already turned away, looking to Marco.

“Birdie blue-breast, would you prefer to be a pie or a roast?” He asked the question with all seriousness, then laughed. He was by Marco’s side in an instant and Marco tried to dodge but was unable to evade Hatter’s hand as he grabbed Marco by the throat and slammed him back into the wall. Marco gasped at the blow, but was unable to inhale as Hatter’s grip around his throat tightened. Hatter stared at Marco for a moment, then cocked his head to the side, looking almost curious. “Oh my! Well well well. Seems someone pissed off the Cat, huh?” Hatter laughed. “Well isn’t that just _perfect!_ He’ll be happy to hear you’re gone. Maybe he’ll come by to join me eating you!” Hatter shook his head. “You really don’t know how to pick your fights, huh?” Marco lashed out, kicking Hatter in the side with all the force his oxygen-deprived muscles could muster.

Hatter, being made of wood, was actually fairly lightweight. The blow was enough to send him flying, but his grip about Marco’s throat didn’t loosen, so when the force of Marco’s kick knocked him away Marco went with him, crashing into the floor. Hatter stood again, raising Marco with him. He held Marco off the ground with one hand. He raised the other, leveling it with Marco’s stomach, fingertips barely touching his skin.

“If it bleeds you can kill it, right birdie blue-breast?” Hatter asked. He drove his fingers forward slowly, yet entirely unyieldingly. His fingers pierced Marco’s flesh, beginning to drive deeper inside him. Marco cried out in pain at Hatter’s slow impalement.

Thatch tore the leg off one of the chairs with a wooden snap. He took the splintered piece and smacked it into Hatter’s face with all the strength he had, swinging it almost like a baseball bat. This time he didn’t go flying, didn’t even jar in the direction of the blow, and the wooden chair leg snapped against Hatter as if he were made of lead. Hatter’s head spun twice from the force of the blow, but snapped to a stop facing Thatch. The blow had actually split his face, the wood of his head sporting a dent. The cracks ran all across his face, one going across his eye to disappear under his hat, another running down over his carved smile, others spreading like spider webs across his whole head. Hatter laughed. “Oh ouch!” He exclaimed.

And then he opened his mouth.

It was enormous, the ends of it behind his ears, far exceeding his painted red lips. He had no tongue or throat.

Screws took the place of teeth.

They ran all along the edge of the opening of his mouth, some bright, some corroded, all wicked. Hatter’ neck extended in one brutal lunge and his jaws snapped shut. If Thatch hadn’t moved, Hatter would have latched onto his throat. As it was, Hatter’s ‘teeth’ tore through Thatch’s shoulder, his jaws continuing to drive shut with all the strength and dispassion of a machine.  
            Thatch felt the grate as Hatter’s ‘teeth’ connected with his shoulder blade and collarbone, but he knew that mere bone wouldn’t be enough to hold back Hatter. He could feel each cruel edge along each screw and cried out as Hatter twisted his head sharply, almost doglike, further shredding Thatch’s shoulder.

Holding Thatch in place with his mouth and Marco with one hand, he withdrew his hand from Marco stomach, reaching towards the table. He groped around on its surface blindly, seemingly searching for something.

The teapot.

When his hand found it, he picked it up by the handle and smashed it against the table. It shattered, leaving Hatter holding a shard of glass. A seriously sharp shard of glass.

Hatter swung it at Thatch’s exposed throat, and it was only because of damn fast reflexes that Thatch was able to catch Hatter’s wrist with his one functional arm. Thatch grunted in effort, straining with all his might to hold back Hatter’s arm. The best he could do was slow it down. The shard of glass made slow progress towards Thatch’s neck.

Hatter cried out and released Marco, his arm falling limp. The wire that had previously been attached to that arm fell to the floor and writhed like a lizard’s detached tail. Marco fell to the floor, gasping and coughing. Hatter drew away with a screech, but opted to take Thatch with him, ‘teeth’ still lodged in Thatch’s shoulder and shard of glass still aimed at his throat.

Whitebeard wasn’t about to stop there, though.

“Let my son go, you bastard!” He roared. His weapon of choice? Another shard from the teapot. The material cut his hand, its edges wickedly sharp, but hell if that mattered. He was no longer sure it was glass, seeing as it had been able to cut through wire, but he didn’t care about that either. Hatter, in a desperation to dodge the shard, released Thatch, his ‘teeth’ emerging from his skin with a fleshy tear. Thatch cried out again, the screws wreaking still more damage as they emerged from his shoulder, and fell to the ground, clutching at the heavily bleeding injury.

Hatter and Whitebeard regarded each other dispassionately. One of Hatter’s arms hung limp, the wire supporting it having been severed. Contrarily, Whitebeard seemed to be favoring one leg, and the shard of the teapot had already cut deeply into his hand. Hatter seemed to grin at Whitebeard, Thatch’s blood dripping from his ‘teeth’.

“Thirteen times five is sixty-five.” Whitebeard said coldly. Hatter shrieked and lashed out, flinging the wire attached to his functional arm at Whitebeard in an attempt to silence him. Whitebeard sidestepped and slashed, severing this wire as well. Hatter screeched in fury and pain.

“Forty-two minus sixteen is twenty-six.” This time, it was Marco who spoke. He stood shakily, blood still streaming from the stab wound to his stomach. He placed a hand over the injury and briefly closed his eyes, a look of deep concentration coming to his face. He remained like this for a moment, then removed his hand, opening his eyes.

The injury was gone.

Whitebeard and Thatch stared at him in wonder.

Hatter, now partially immobilized, still attempted an attack, kicking at Marco and sending the wire careening towards him. Marco sidestepped and continued walking towards Hatter calmly. Hatter tried to back up, but soon reached the wall. Marco continued forward.

Hatter lashed out at him again and again, but each time, Marco sidestepped. When Marco finally reached him, Hatter, in a last-ditch effort, lunged at him like he had Thatch. Marco let the blow land, leaning his head away to spare his neck, Hatter’s jaws closing around his shoulder. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out, and raised his other hand, moving it towards Hatter’s head. Hatter, in response, tightened his jaws on Marco’s shoulder and Marco felt the bone crack. That elicited a gasp of pain from him, but he didn’t stop. Marco placed his hand on Hatter’s head, closing his eyes, shutting out his pain, and concentrating.

And Hatter morphed back.

He instantly collapsed at Marco’s feet, gasping and trying to scramble back, but Marco had him pinned against the wall. Both of Hatter’s arms were obviously broken, bent and useless, and he cried out when one accidentally collided with the floor. “What did you do to me?!” Hatter looked utterly terrified of Marco. “That’s not possible! It doesn’t make sense! You _can’t do that!_ ” Marco paid Hatter no mind for a moment, instead placing a hand over his bleeding shoulder, closing his eyes, and healing it the way he had the injury on his stomach. Hatter stared at him like he’d grown a second head, and tried again to scramble back, only managing to further press himself against the wall. Marco crouched by Hatter and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.

“I can do whatever I want.” He whispered, deadly. “And I’m sick of you and that damn Cat telling me how pathetic I am, how _inhuman_ I am.”

He stood, bringing Hatter with him, and slammed him against the wall. Hatter yelped and flinched, turning his face away, cowering. Marco growled, pushing him further into the wall, and Hatter whimpered, flicking his gaze up to Marco, eyes shining with terror.

“What. Is. Cheshire?” Marco asked, voice commanding and frigid.

“Marco-“ Marco glared briefly over his shoulder at Thatch.

“Shut up. I’m done with secrets, and I’m done with Hatter. I’m _getting_ a straight answer.” Hatter tried to flicker back to his dead form, but Marco spoke before he could lash out. “Four plus eight is twelve. Twelve times two is twenty-four.” Hatter was forced to snap back, a cry of pain escaping him. “What is Cheshire? Tell me now!” Marco snarled. Hatter writhed in his grip and Marco slammed him against the wall again. Hatter gave a wounded cry at the blow, the wire connected to his spine digging harshly into his flesh. When the pain faded somewhat, he glared at Marco.

“Seems I should have done better work on you, eh BIRDIE BLUE-BREAST? You’d have made a _lovely_ pie!” He snarled at Marco. He bared his teeth at Marco, nearly animalistic. Hatter, still snarling like a beast, moved his right arm up to Marco’s head, placing his palm flat on the side of Marco’s head. Hatter blinked, eyes dilating hugely. He stared at nothing for a moment, then a slow grin came to his face. “Seems I’m not the only one who should have done a better job, eh, birdie? If only your masters had finished what they started with your ki-“ Marco slammed him against the wall with enough force that he heard Hatter’s ribs crack. Hatter cried out again, and Marco didn’t let up on the pressure, earning gasps and whimpers from Hatter at the force against his broken bones.

“What. Is. Cheshire?” Hatter’s eyes, glazed with pain, wandered over Marco’s shoulder and caught on something. They stayed there for a moment before drifting back to Marco’s face, a smile spreading his lips. His voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper that only Marco would be able to hear.

“Why don’t you ask him yourse-“ Hatter’s voice cut off as his head did a full 360, accompanied by the sound of snapping bones. When his head came back to face Marco not a second later, his eyes were widened as if in surprise. He blinked once.

And unlived.

He fell limp in Marco’s grip, shocked expression still on his face. His head hung oddly, twisted and sideways. His eyes were cloudy, and he didn’t breathe anymore. “…Hatter?” Marco asked almost breathlessly. No response. Marco released Hatter and watched him crumple to the floor limply. “Shit.” Marco wiped his face with a hand.

“Oh my _God_ , Marco! You just killed Hatter!” Thatch sounded utterly horrified, Marco turned to face him, blinking confusedly.

“…No. I didn’t. I…I _couldn’t_ have. I mean…I thought…Cheshire said inhabitants can’t die in Wonderland. And…I didn’t touch his head…” Marco turned back to stare at Hatter’s body with wide eyes. What would this do to Ace? Would the part of Ace that was Hatter just be _gone_ now? Marco really hoped that wasn’t the case. Marco had been willing to use harsher methods to get information from Hatter because he didn’t think he could do any lasting damage. But…But _now_ …

…Now Hatter was lying limply on the floor like an abandoned doll because of him.

“…I don’t think Marco was what killed Hatter.” Whitebeard stated after a tense, silent moment. “But something definitely did. Which means we can’t stay here. If there’s something here that can kill inhabitants, it can probably do some serious damage to us as well.” Thatch nodded and stood, wincing, still clutching at his shoulder in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Wait. Let me take a look at that before we go.” Marco said. He approached Thatch, gently pulling away the hand Thatch was using to cover the wound.

It was a nasty piece of work. The muscles of Thatch’s shoulder were practically mincemeat, and Marco guessed some damage had been done to the bone beneath as well. It bled heavily, blood chugging out in time with Thatch’s pulse. Marco placed a hand lightly over the injury, mentally apologizing as Thatch winced. He looked Thatch in the eye and spoke seriously.

“This is going to be one of the weirdest things you’ve ever felt. And it’ll probably hurt a bit.” Thatch blinked, then nodded. Marco closed his eyes, letting calm overtake him.

In his mind he imagined the shoulder the way it should be, calling on his knowledge of human anatomy to remember every tiny muscle, every cell of sinew that must be in place for the arm to function properly. He then drew up a mental image of the way it was now, shredded, broken, useless. Slowly, again drawing on his knowledge of human anatomy, Marco went through the healing process in his mind. How the white blood cells would clot to stop the bleeding. How cell division, over the course of months, would do what it could to repair the mangled shoulder. Only in his mind, it did it perfectly. The muscles all reconnected the way they were supposed to, in the exact lengths and strengths they had been before. Blood vessels reconnected seamlessly. The bone, chipped and fractured, re-knit itself, perfect and unflawed. And, finally, new skin cells replaced the shredded dead ones, closing over the injury with smooth, pale new growth.

Marco felt the drain of it, but it was nothing. He knew if he hadn’t acted Thatch’s shoulder wouldn’t have ever worked properly again.

Marco opened his eyes and withdrew his hand, looking down and seeing the healed shoulder exactly as he’d visualized it.

Thatch stared down at the former injury in wonder, flexing the joint, testing the muscles. “Holy shit! How in hell did you do that?” He exclaimed. Marco had already turned away, heading towards Whitebeard.

“Let me see your hand.” Marco said calmly. He was fighting hard not to show the drain. When Whitebeard didn’t extend it, Marco looked up to his face. Whitebeard was looking back at him seriously.

“You don’t have to.” Marco was about to protest but Whitebeard raised a hand, effectively cutting him off. “I know what this does to you. Don’t you try to hide it. My hand isn’t that bad, and certainly not worth what it’ll do to you to fix it.” Marco was about to protest again, but Whitebeard gave him a look and Marco gave it up, knowing it was pointless. He sighed.

“At least let me bandage it, then.” Now Whitebeard did extend his sliced hand. Marco tore a few strips from the bottom of his shirt, wrapping the injury tightly. The bleeding had already slowed before Marco bound it, and he knew it wouldn’t be long at all before it stopped entirely.

“Okay, _seriously_ , though. How did you do that? With my shoulder, your stomach, your shoulder, and Hatter?” Thatch asked. Marco turned his attention to him, thinking about the best way to explain. Finally he sighed. Honesty would be simplest.

“It’s a kind of Haki in the same vein as Synthesis. It’s called Metamorphosis. Essentially, instead of using one’s mind to alter the universe or reality, you use it to alter yourself. After…a long time of practice, I’ve figured out how to do it on others.” Marco paused for a moment. “…To be honest, I think it’s what turned Ace younger again. The Enlightened could do it, and a long, long time ago humanity could do it too.  Now…well, I don’t know that anyone alive today has the juice to get it done. Ace could probably manage self-Metamorphosis, but he doesn’t have the experience to project it on others.”

“The…Enlightened?” Thatch looked confused. Marco sighed again.

“The Enlightened, the Ancients, the Creators…there’s a thousand different names for them in this language. I don’t remember what Ace decided to call them.”

“But if Metamorphosis is really what turned Ace little again, could you undo it?” Whitebeard asked. Marco rubbed at his face.

“I don’t know. Maybe? If that tablet really was something left by the Enlightened…it’ll be on a whole different level than me. We weren’t designed to undo the acts of our Makers.” Marco turned away. Questions he didn’t want to answer would be coming up next. He wanted to avoid those if possible. “…But I think we should worry about that later. As Oyaji said, there’s something nearby that can kill inhabitants. It’s in our best interests to leave quickly.” Whitebeard agreed, and while Thatch seemed to hesitate, still curious, he nodded as well. Getting out of Hatter’s maze would be easier now that Marco had kicked down half the walls, but it was still a maze. It’d take them a while, and Marco didn’t want to spend any more time in Hatter’s lair, in _Wonderland_ , than he had to.

 

* * *

 

            Cheshire turned his head to watch the trio leave the room. He’d concealed himself from them. Even if they’d looked right at him they wouldn’t have been able to actually see him. His eyes focused with particular interest on Marco, and he chuckled.

            “…Metamorphosis? Hmm. Interesting trick, Marco.” He focused his eyes, watching how Marco’s hands minutely trembled, how pale he’d gone. “But you won’t be able to use it again, will you?” He laughed, eyes smoldering in his head as he began to burn away.

            “Well then, maybe it’s time to confront the price of your curiosity.”


	40. Chapter 40

“Son of a _bitch!_ ” Ace hissed. He crouched, extending a hand. “Damn they really did a number on him.”

“Can you fix him?” Ace turned, facing his companion.

“…Well yeah. He is a construct of my imagination. But it’s going to take some time, which we don’t have a lot of right now.” He sighed. “…It might be better to just leave.”

“What?! You’re the one that dragged us all the way out here, _despite_ some _very_ important facts – such as the fact that Mr. Savage is still after us, need I remind you – and now you want to just _leave?!_ ”

“Well the Jabberwocky’s coming, and a fight against him is _not_ something I’d willingly sign up for. And Hatter will eventually fix himself.” That had the figure pausing for a minute.

“…Excuse me?”

“Yeah. He’s the construct that contains the piece of my mind labeled ‘logic.’ The ‘logic’ didn’t die, and so in an attempt to rebalance itself Wonderland will eventually reanimate him.” Ace looked down at Hatter, brows furrowing slightly. “…All this does is get him to shut up or sit still for a while. But why would they…?” Ace trailed off, confusion on his face. His companion was staring at him in incomprehension.

“You’re telling me you left the _only_ safe place in Wonderland to come here for something that you didn’t even _need to fix?”_ She looked worried. “Ace…” Ace turned to her.

“No, no, no. We needed to come. This wasn’t the only thing we had to do. You know they wouldn’t have been able to deal with Queen as he is now. I had to get him out of the way for them. Now, after what we did, assuming they aren’t _monumentally stupid_ , getting through the Red Palace shouldn’t be too hard, which means they’ll be able to get me out faster.” His companion looked confused.

“…I just don’t get it. If you can leave the Sanctuary, why don’t you just go and meet them? Wouldn’t that be easier for everybody?” Ace sighed, looking down at his hands and flexing them.

“Well…two reasons. The first: because of Mr. Savage’s little embargo, I can’t _really_ leave. But I can project my consciousness onto a specific place in Wonderland. Only half of my mind is here right now. The other half is currently in a state of…well, stasis to avoid confusion or disorientation until I can reconnect with it. It took a damn lot of practice, and I wouldn’t be able to do it if Serpent hadn’t told me how. The second reason…well…” Ace’s eyes trailed off in the direction Thatch, Marco, and Whitebeard had gone. “…if they can’t save me from this, they can’t save me from Hare. And I’d rather die down here than up there, by his hand. So we’ll keep watching them from a distance, and keep the Jabberwocky from tailing them. And when they start getting closer, I’ll reconnect with the other half of my mind and meet them at the Sanctuary.”

“Why is the Jabberwocky tailing them? We’ve had to drag it off twice now.” Ace took a deep breath.

“Well…they’re foreign. They technically don’t belong here, and the Jabberwocky can tell. He’s my subconscious, the guardian of my conscious mind. He sees Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard the same way a white blood cell sees bacteria. He doesn’t…think when he goes after them. He just does it because that’s all he is. So we have to give him something to chase to keep him from getting to them because the Jabberwocky simply _doesn’t_ have limits, and they couldn’t deal with it.”

“Why do you risk so much to protect them?” Ace sighed, face a mix of confusion and pensiveness.

“…That’s what I need to ask them.”

* * *

 

After exiting Hatter’s domain, it was with mild trepidation that Marco acknowledged approaching nightfall. The sun was already low enough to begin painting the sky a vague, half yellow, and he estimated they had another hour or two of daylight, tops.

Marco didn’t know for sure, but he had a feeling they’d want to be at Caterpillar’s before nightfall.

In the original Wonderland, Caterpillar’s domain had been in a woodland of sorts, but Marco didn’t see anything like that nearby. Only a distant haze, like smog or factory smoke. It hung like a greasy shroud over a patch of distant landscape, and Marco thought he could make out the shape of vague buildings through the haze.

“I see you’ve already deduced your direction.” Marco jumped and spun. He instantly went mildly defensive, setting one foot subtly apart from the other in a loose stance.

“Cheshire.” He grinned at them, that wide smile the same as ever, cold blue eyes regarding them like they were particularly interesting bugs under glass. Marco noted, with mild justification, that Whitebeard and Thatch had also taken up subtle positions, ready to react as the situation called for it, ready to attack if the opportunity presented itself. Cheshire looked between the three of them, arching one brow.

“…What? Do I have something in my teeth?” Shit. He’d noticed. Oh well, it didn’t matter.

“What do you want, Cheshire?” Cheshire sighed and shook his head.

“Always questions. Bad habit. I would have thought you’d grown out of it by now.” The three regarded him stonily, silently. He looked between them curiously. “What? Did I murder someone’s favorite aunt?”

“Tell us what you are, Cheshire.” Marco demanded frostily. Cheshire’s gaze shifted to him, nothing kind or happy in his smile or the chips of ice he called eyes.

“Oh! You think you can order me around? That’s cute, _birdie blue-breast_. But you have _no_ authority over me.” Cheshire’s tail was twitching in agitation. “You better watch what the _fuck_ you say to me. I’m your only ally down here, and trust me when I say you don’t want me as your enemy.” His glare evaporated, abruptly shifting back to calm. “Now that _that’s_ been sorted, let’s get down to busine-“

“You should answer Marco’s que-“

“Here’s a riddle.” Cheshire’s eyes had closed, and his neck twitched once. He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm down. “When is a croquet mallet like a billy club?” He opened his eyes, suppressed wrath in his gaze. “I don’t trust your intelligence, so I’ll just tell you.” His voice dropped to a snarl. _“The next time you cut me off.”_ Deadly silence filled the air for a moment.

“…Hatter said things, Cheshire. Things that have made me wonder about you. Why not clear up the confusion and we can all be friends again? Easy as that. You can’t blame us for not blindly trusting you.” Thatch said calmly, trying to ease the tension. Cheshire’s gaze drifted to him. He blinked indolently.

“You seemed willing enough to do it before.” He sighed. “…it wouldn’t even do any good.” The three pirates looked at him in confusion.

“What does that mean?” Cheshire’s eyes closed with a melodramatic sigh of disappointment.

“…Phrase it differently.” He said flatly.

“I would _greatly appreciate it_ if you would explain what you meant by your last statement, _if you please_.” Thatch ground out between clenched teeth. _Damn_ Cheshire could be a pain in the ass.

“Well, what I meant was that even if I told you something like, ‘I am not Mr. Savage’ you’d have _no_ way of verifying it and you distrust me so much you wouldn’t believe it. So it’s pointless. So I’d rather not waste the air, thank you very much.” Cheshire said calmly. “And don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? What have I ever done that has been anything but to your benefit? All you have against me are Hatter’s words. Do they really speak louder than all my actions and advice?”

“Hatter can’t lie.” Whitebeard said guardedly. Cheshire turned near pitying eyes to him.

“How do you know that? Because _he_ told you? What if _that_ was a lie? Did that ever cross your minds?” He looked between them. Marco exchanged an uneasy glance with Whitebeard and Thatch. “…I can see that it didn’t.” His eyes went frosty. “Thanks for your deep, moving trust, _friends_. I’m glad I have such _great_ allies.” His voice remained snippy, offended. “Well, since my company is apparently of such little value to you, I’ll keep this brief.

“As you probably deduced after meeting Hatter, Caterpillar isn’t going to be as fluffy and nice as he used to be. Just as Hatter has become The Puppet, Caterpillar has become The Wyrm. Be careful. He’s crafty. And he’s ready for you. _Don’t_ you ever _EVER_ get separated during your visit. Just pass through quickly.” Cheshire began to disappear, skin burning away. He gave them one last, cheeky grin. “Oh, and as always, please don’t die.” And he was gone.

A moment of tense, brooding silence passed before Marco broke it.

“…Well…I guess we should get going. It’s going to be nighttime soon, and something tells me we don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.” Thatch swallowed, biting his lip.

“…What Cheshire said…do you think…maybe he’s right?” Marco sighed.

“…I know the facts. Cheshire has been helpful, and as long as he continues to be so, there’s no cause for hostility.” But something, some instinctive part of him wasn’t comfortable with Cheshire. Hadn’t been since he’d first laid eyes on him. But he wouldn’t say as much. After all, he was useful. For all that Marco didn’t trust him as far as he could spit, he was useful.  So Marco would wonder and try to puzzle it out. He knew he had the answer, he just needed to piece it together. His eyes closed briefly. _What is he? Why is he helping us? …Dammit, I wish I’d gotten Hatter to just spit it out._

“We can worry more about that later. Now let’s get moving. We’ve only got another hour or so of daylight, and I’d like to be indoors before nightfall.” Whitebeard said firmly. Thatch and Marco both nodded, and the trio set out towards the distant, blurry outline of the city.

* * *

 

Marco blinked rapidly, trying to somehow diminish the stinging in his eyes. The smoke in the air was as dense as it was acrid, and it burned his eyes and throat. Not to mention it reduced visibility and cast the already dreary city in an even drearier smog.

The buildings, filthy brown or grey, were rectangular, industrial. Ranging in height from squat, low warehouses to soaring towers. They were ugly. Still in a serviceable state of repair, but it was clear they’d been there for a while. The cornerstones were scuffed and dull, and every wall was caked with an ashy, grey residue from the smoke. That plus the brown stone underneath lent them an unflattering color. Wide, cement-paved streets ran between the buildings, and in the distance, smokestacks rose out of a large building, probably some kind of factory. In the gutter ran a nasty, filthy sludge, the water long clogged past recognition with cigarettes, vomit, and the oily residue of the smoke. Windows, occasionally smashed, lined the buildings, but were too smeared and smudged to reflect any light from the setting, distant old egg yolk that was the sun.

The streets were dead empty.

Nobody walked, nobody opened doors, passed between buildings, anything. When Marco glanced up, he could vaguely make out humanoid silhouettes through the dirty windows. All uniform, seated at desks. So uniform, they could have been the same person. And they moved in unison too, seemingly writing some kind of document. Marco shivered and looked away.

“…So. Where, in this _very_ pleasant town, do you imagine Caterpillar could be?” Thatch asked. Marco took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as he fought not to cough.

“Well…I don’t know. This isn’t exactly where I’d imagine Ace’s Creativity living…” Marco said.

“He’s here somewhere. We’ll just have to look around.” Whitebeard said. He cast a glance up at the many windows. “…I don’t think asking for directions is a great idea.”

“Yeah no kidding.” Thatch murmured. It felt somehow wrong to disturb the silence of this place any more than absolutely necessary.

“Why don’t we start over here? I’d suggest we split up to cover more ground, but something tells me that’s not a great idea…” Marco said, indicating a fairly wide street that led more towards the center of the city. Thatch and Whitebeard agreed, and they set off.

Finding nothing on the main roads, the trio eventually turned to the alleyways. As unpleasant as the streets were, these were even worse. Broken bottles, vomit and other bodily fluids, and a stench like sweat and bad wine pervaded these narrow, corridor-like lanes, and they stumbled across the occasional slumped figure, generally unconscious or unresponsive, eyes dilated in some kind of drug-induced stupor, clutching syringes or pipes. When passing one such figure, they suddenly lunged out, grabbing Marco’s ankle, almost making him trip.

“Do ya wanna buy sum happy? You sure do look down, Peaches.” Marco stumbled back into the opposite wall, yanking his leg out of the man’s grasp. Thatch and Whitebeard instinctively wanted to go offensive, but hesitated. The man didn’t seem to be hostile, after all. The man’s attention was still solely focused on Marco. “It’s good stuff. I promise it won’t hurt ya or nothing. Got it at that club, and you know they only serve the best.” His eyes went wistful. “Ah…I wish I could go see another show…” He suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. “But I guess I’d need legs to do that!” He wiggled two stumps, all, Marco realized, that was left of his legs. Though whether he’d lost them in some kind of accident or they’d been amputated was unclear. Marco swallowed.

“…Where is this club?” The man’s dilated, shiny eyes refocused on him. They’d wandered to a spot on the wall just next to him.

“It’s _below_ , Peaches. _Below_.” He said it in total seriousness, in total earnestness, staring into Marco’s eyes intensely. Marco shivered. He didn’t like seeing those hazel-grey eyes, _Ace’s eyes_ , looking like that. Drug addled, unfocused, slowly beginning to go blind from whatever chemical this poor sod was subjecting himself to.

“…Th-Thanks.” Marco said, beginning to head towards Thatch and Whitebeard.

“Hey, Peaches, you gonna buy or not?”

“No…No, thank you.” The man grinned at him.

“That’s alright. I still like ya anyway.” Marco smiled back hesitantly before turning away.

It was only when they found the staircase that Marco understood what the drugged man had meant by ‘below.’

In front of them was a greasy, stained stone staircase leading down towards the sewers of the city. However, next to the pipe into which all the refuse and sludge this city had to offer was flowing was a door. Above it on a stained red sign with chipped yellow letters read the name of the establishment.

The ‘Wyrm Hole’.

 _Of course,_ Marco reflected drily, _Caterpillar_ would _be in a seedy, drug-dealing bar._ He exchanged a glance with Thatch and Whitebeard who both looked equally put off by the appearance of the place. But they stepped in regardless. The sooner they met Caterpillar, the sooner they could leave.

A low piano riff wandered dimly through the clouded air, accompanied by the scent of alcohol and tobacco smoke which mostly covered the ever-present stench of the smoke outside.

“ _Alice is dead…_

_I want you to know_

_that you’ve fallen through a hole in the sky.”_

The female vocalist’s voice surprised him, soft like velvet, with all the rich, sensual undertones of jazz. As they stepped more fully into the place, Marco was forced to rethink his previous deduction, averting his eyes from the stage, the singer, blushing. _Of course,_ he amended, _Caterpillar_ would _be in a seedy, drug-dealing_ racy lounge.His eyes flicked up to the stage for an instant, verifying what he’d seen, before instantly finding the floor again. _Jesus. What is this doing in the mind of a_ 10-year-old?

The Estrella had gotten some modifications since Ace had drawn it in that notebook on Shanks’ ship.

_“The strangers welcome you_

_as you lose your sanity they touch your soul.”_

She looked a helluva lot more human, for one thing. The skin was no longer grey-white, but pale, pale peach. The same silver, looping, beaded necklace served as the only covering on her chest, and it barely covered the necessities. Whenever she moved, in fact, a little bit _too much_ to be considered innocent was revealed. Her skirt, still the same satiny, nearly sheer, pale pale grey, was slashed, the opening in the fabric running all the way up one creamy thigh. It rode low on her hips, letting her slim yet curvaceous figure speak for itself in bare skin.

_“Let them into your mind_

_let them into, let me in you…”_

She danced as she sang, looping, twisting, arching, graceful and lewd, the silver beads flashing in the dim light, revealing her chest with each little dip. Her skirt twirled with her, flowing about her legs like smoke.

_“I want you to know that the smoke bellows out the depths of the pipe._

_Caress you,_

_it makes you_

_believe anything, all the truths all the lies.”_ Her eyes flashed out to meet those of her clients as she danced, adding some degree of intimacy.

_“Let them into your mind_

_let them into, let me in you._

_Let them into your mind_

_let them into, let me in you._

_Magic potions, grinning fur_

_It’s all a blur, it’s all a blur_

_Magic poisons, royal tea_

_Run screaming, run screaming to me_

_I want you to know…Alice is dead_

_I want you to know…Alice is dead_

_Let them into your mind_

_Let them into, let me in you.”_ The song concluded, the piano fading off in a final chord. Her eyes were focused just behind Marco and he turned, finding Thatch staring, enthralled. Marco clenched his jaw, reaching up and smacking Thatch in the head. He stumbled.

“Ow! What was that for?!” He exclaimed.

“Jesus _Christ_ Thatch, that’s part of your _little brother_ up there!” Marco snapped. The piano had started again, this time faster, with less jazz. Another song was starting.

“Cut it out you two. Let’s get going, we need to find Caterpillar.”

_“You are the pain in my throat_

_when you are near me I choke_

_everything round me screaming_

_Stop, don’t do this!_

_You are the word in my heart_

_Every time I try to start_

_Everything round me screaming_

_Stop or lose it!_

_I try to run but I don’t_

_I try to hide on my own_

_I really do try to die but I’m scared._

_To ruin your life and mine_

_Hit two birds in one straight line_

_I really do try to die somewhere…”_ Whitebeard led the way through the bar, Marco resisting the urge to grab Thatch by his ear and drag him. It was dark and smoky, but it was clear Caterpillar wasn’t in the room. To the left of the stage, though, was a doorway leading off to places unknown. It seemed a good place to start, and they headed towards it.

_“You have your hands tipped with blades_

_when you hold me I’m afraid_

_of being cut but then I guess I’d be free._

_If you weren’t human I’d tense_

_‘cause then all this would make sense_

_I’d know what everything was telling me._

_I try to win but I lose_

_There’s no real end I can choose_

_To be let free without suicide!_

_So now I’m just gonna do_

_What I can try to get through_

_It’s now the start of a life long ride._

_You are the cramp in my side_

_You jab at me like a knife_

_Everything round me screaming_

_Stop don’t do it!_

_My mind’s made up with a choice_

_For once I’m using my voice_

_Everything round me praising_

_Please keep with it!_

_I try to win but I lose_

_There’s no real end I can choose_

_To be let free without suicide._

_So now I’m just gonna do_

_What I can try to get through_

_It’s now the start of a life long ride.”_ The door was locked. And Marco doubted anyone would be handing over a key any time soon. Thatch found an eloquent solution, though, swiping some toothpicks from a nearby table. They weren’t preferable lockpicks, not at _all_ , but damn if Thatch wasn’t a prodigy at opening locks after all the practice he’d had.

_“I try to run but I don’t_

_I try to hide on my own_

_I really do try to die but I’m scared…_

_To ruin your life and mine_

_Hit two birds in one straight line_

_I really do try to die somewhere.”_ Marco cast a wary glance over his shoulder, making sure nobody was paying attention to the fact that they were breaking into the back area. His eyebrows furrowed. _…I wonder what part of Ace she represents._ He pondered silently. **Click**. The lock was open, and Marco turned back to face the others.

The door opened into an equally badly lit corridor. Little niches Marco assumed led off to other doors pocked the walls every twenty feet or so. As they passed the first, Marco glanced down it. Instead of a door, it led to a pipe. A legitimate _pipe._ Like, iron pipe. Large enough to walk in, with its diameter being the same height as the ceiling. Come to think of it, the walls and floors of this hallway were different than those in the lounge. Solid stone, like it had been carved into the bedrock of the city. _‘Below.’_ The druggie’s word echoed in his head. _‘It’s_ below _’._ He walked a bit slower than the others, falling to the back of the group. He looked down each branching pipe, looking for some indication as to whether they were following the right path or should be following one of these others that split off from the mai-

A hand clapped over his face, pressing a piece of fabric over his nose and mouth. He took a shocked gasp, and instantly his vision tunneled, going dark. _Dammit! Chloroform?_ He tried to struggle, but it was already too late, he was gone. He felt arms close around him, keeping him from falling, keeping his unconscious form from making any sound that would alert his companions to his current peril.

His vision went dark, and he collapsed.

Thatch, further ahead of Marco, neither saw nor heard the conflict. He and Whitebeard kept walking, ignorant, oblivious as Marco was drag-carried away, down one of the side passages. It was a few side-niches later that Thatch paused, joking smirk on his face. “You’ve been quiet for a while now, Marco. You alright back there?” He turned and froze.

Marco was gone.

Just…gone.

“Holy shit! Marco?! Where are you?! This isn’t funny!” Thatch looked about desperately but saw no trace of him. Whitebeard had turned too, and by now he was equally panicked.

“Marco! If you can hear us, please respond!” He called, voice booming into the echoing depths.

Nothing.

“I’ll check some of the side passages we passed, okay?” Thatch said urgently. Whitebeard blinked at him and nodded ascent and instantly Thatch was off, sprinting down the corridor, looking left and right.

Nothing.

Thatch felt real fear creeping into his chest. He stopped, panting, next to a wall. He punched it in frustration and tension. _Damn it! This…this is really bad. Fucking Cat_ warned _us! Why weren’t we more attentive?!_ Thatch grit his teeth, clenching his jaw till it ached. He felt bleak dread curling in his stomach. _Please…_ please _just let him be okay._ He opened his eyes slowly, turning back towards Whitebeard and beginning to walk back.

Once he drew near enough to be clearly heard, he spoke, despair and worry clear in his voice. “I couldn’t find him, Oyaji. I…what should we-“ Thatch’s cut off as a sudden sensation came over him.

Weightlessness.

His eyes widened. He was falling. He was _falling._ His desperate, surprised eyes connected with Whitebeard’s and not an instant later Whitebeard was before him and he reached out instinctively, feeling some part of him jump for joy when he managed to catch Whitebeard’s arms with his own. He didn’t care about the jerk against his arms as his body weight slammed against the sockets. He hung, suspended, in the hole, Whitebeard’s grip on his forearms all that kept him from plunging into the blackness below. It had been a trap door, one that had snapped open as he walked across it. He didn’t know, couldn’t see, what lay below, but he didn’t want to find out.

He looked up at Whitebeard, breathless but beyond relieved. A grin pulled its way onto his face, one that Whitebeard returned with equal relief clear in his expression.

And then something started pulling on Thatch’s legs.

His eyes widened and the smile fell away, replaced by a look of horror. Whitebeard lurched under the sudden pressure, but remained steadfast in his position, not letting Thatch go. Thatch clung desperately to Whitebeard’s arms, feeling the force on his legs increasing. His hands were starting to slip…

With one violent, sudden tug, Thatch found himself falling again, away from Whitebeard, out of reach, beyond saving.

The last thing Whitebeard saw of Thatch was his shocked, terrified face, eyes widened, mouth parted in a silent cry. And it _broke his heart._ He stared after Thatch into the darkness for heavens knows how long, the sight of him falling, frightened, burned into his eyes. He’d failed Marco too. Now they were both gone, God _knows_ where, and he, their _father_ , had failed to protect them.

The trap door swung shut, barring him from following after Thatch.

Whitebeard felt a new emotion swelling in his chest, one that many of his enemies had learned to fear.

Rage.

Undiluted fury.

Whitebeard stood, spun, and crossed the rest of the corridor, finding a door at the end. _Caterpillar, you better be ready._

_Because when I find you, I am going to_ kill you for this.

He threw open the door, uncaring of what may or may not lay on the other side.

It was an entirely circular room. Empty, save for four things.

A table with some strange kind of chessboard on the surface.

An empty chair, its back towards Whitebeard.

Another chair, this one occupied, its back to the door on the opposite side of the room.

And the life-size doll currently occupying it.

It sat limply in the chair, limbs flopped randomly. There was one big difference between it and your average doll, though.

It had no face.

There was an oval-ish outline around where the face should have been, but only blackness filled it. A hole. One that stretched back into the skull and seemingly far, far beyond. Whitebeard stepped fully into the room and instantly the door slammed behind him. He heard its lock click shut.

“So.” The voice seemed to come from the doll, or more specifically from the hole in its head.

“Do you want to play a _game?”_


	41. Chapter 41

Whitebeard stared at the figure. “…What?” he asked, after a brief pause. The figure lifted one hand languidly, pointing at the altered chessboard.

“Do you want to play a _game?_ ” it repeated. It sounded amused, nearly mocking. Whitebeard didn’t approach and didn’t answer the question.

“What did Caterpillar do with Marco and Thatch?” he asked, voice nearing a snarl. The figure, sighing, replaced its hand on the armrest.

“You’ll have to ask him that.”

“Then let me speak to him,” Whitebeard said coldly. The figure seemed to straighten, resuming its former mirth.

“Oh but you have to _win_ first. We can’t let just _anyone_ in to see the Wyrm,” it said, voice clownishly happy. Whitebeard approached the table. As he did, the chessboard came more fully into view and, upon further inspection, Whitebeard wasn’t sure it could even be called that.

It was massive. The table was probably a good sixteen square feet, and the chessboard covered the whole surface. The tiles that composed it, as usual, were white and black, but they weren’t evenly dispersed as they were on a regular chessboard. They seemed to be randomly placed, with far more of them than there were of white tiles. On the mannequin’s side of the board there were no pieces at all. On the side near the empty chair, near Whitebeard, there were two pieces. Two pawns.

“If you can get your pieces to the other side of the board, you win. I’ll let you see the Wyrm and you can ask him your question.”

“And if I lose?” Whitebeard asked. “What, you’ll kill me?” The mannequin laughed, voice dropping to silky softness.

“As if death is the worst thing that could happen to you. No, you lose you’ll be free to go. But…well. Your consequence is tied up in the game. So let’s get to playing, shall we?” Whitebeard hesitated.

“…And if I leave now?” The mannequin cocked its head to the side. But in its voice Whitebeard could hear its unseen grin.

“Through what door?” Whitebeard stiffened and spun.

The door was gone.

Not locked, not closed. Gone.

“…You really thought it was just Marco and Thatch that we had snared…?” Whitebeard turned back slowly towards the mannequin. It hadn’t moved, but as he watched it turned its head slowly to face him, the black hole in the front of its head empty and void. “…Tell me, Edward Newgate, when did you get so naïve?” The figure remained stationary, but the source of the voice seemed to draw closer to Whitebeard. “You’d better start taking this seriously. More than your life is on the line.”

“In comparison to that of my children, my own safety is meaningless to me,” Whitebeard said. The mannequin’s head tilted slightly to the side.

“Then maybe you’ll do better knowing their lives are at risk as well?” Whitebeard tensed, protective impulse surging.

“How _dare_ you threaten-“

“I don’t threaten. I state the truth. You’re wasting time. Important. Time. You do realize that while you’ve been down here, three more inhabitants have separately been able to materialize on your ship? Your ‘children’ aren’t properly equipped to handle us. Not at all. It’s more than just you, Ace, Thatch, and Marco in the infirmary now, _Pops_. If you’re so desperate to protect them…I have to ask, what are you doing here?” The sneer was back in the figure’s voice, and Whitebeard had visibly paled.

“Who?” he choked. “Who got out of Wonderland? Who did they hurt?” The mannequin didn’t react as if it had heard.

“So come sit down and I’ll explain the rules-“

“ _Who did they hurt?!”_ Whitebeard snarled. The mannequin continued as if uninterrupted.

“As I said before, if your pieces make it to this side of the board, you win. You’ll get to see Caterpillar and ask him your questions, and then you can be on your merry-“ Whitebeard stalked across the room, seizing the mannequin by its shoulders, lifting it from its chair. It felt fragile beneath his grip, like clay or glass.

“ _Who. Did. They. HURT?!”_ Whitebeard roared. The mannequin was entirely limp in his hands, and with a jolt he realized the voice continued to emanate from the vicinity of the chair, as if he hadn’t moved the speaker at all.

“…Sit down, Edward Newgate, or else I fear this will end unhappily.”

“Not until you answer my damn-“

“I said _sit down_ ,” the voice murmured, smooth as smoke. To his own shock, Whitebeard’s limbs began moving, outside of his control, beyond his power to stop or even slow them. He could only watch, stunned, horrified, as his arms returned the mannequin to the chair before he jerkily walked over to the opposite chair, taking a seat. Once he was seated, the compulsion left him, his body once more entirely under his command. He flexed his fingers in front of his face, staring at them wide-eyed.

The mannequin slouched in its chair, sightlessly regarding him through that great, gaping chasm in its face.

“The rules are simple,” it said, voice returned to its former mirth. “In each turn, you’re allowed to move each piece. If it’s resting on a black square, you can move it two spaces in any direction. If it’s resting on a white square, you may move it only one space again in any direction.” Whitebeard could hear the genial smile in its voice. “The black squares are higher risk. Your pawns stand a higher chance of death on those squares. White squares are safer, but as afore stated, they reduce your speed. After your turn, I will tell you the state of each piece, whether they have lived or died. If they’re still alive, it’s your turn again. Questions?”

“How is it fair if you get to arbitrarily decide if my pieces make it or not?” Whitebeard asked, trying to remain collected. Inside, he seethed. Caterpillar had a _lot_ to answer for, when he got through this.

“It’s not arbitrary,” the mannequin replied easily.

“Sure doesn’t seem that way to me,” Whitebeard responded.

“Well I guess you’ll just have to leave it up to those that are cleverer than you, neh? _”_ Whitebeard stiffened, fighting not to lash out. Despite his efforts he was about to snarl a response when the mannequin spoke again. “ _Silence_. This is not a place for pride. Because you are _nothing_ here. You have no power, no strength. You are not ‘Yonkou’ here, you are not ‘Oyaji’. You are owed no loyalty and shall receive no consideration for debts you think are ours.” The mannequin would have smiled brightly at this point, if it had a face. “So you might want to be careful of what you say.” The mannequin seemed to relax. “To return to your earlier question, allow me to elaborate on my role here. _I don’t care who wins._ I have nothing against you, just as I have nothing for you. So in that way, I suppose you could say the fate of your pawns is arbitrary in that I’m not necessarily in control of what happens to them. But I won’t lie about their deaths or continued existence either. It’s up to you, whether you gamble them on the faster routes or the safer.” Whitebeard remained silent for a good long while, studying the figure before him, searching for some lie in the voice. He found none.

“…Let’s begin,” he said coldly, reaching for one of the pawns.

He placed it on a black square and the mannequin studied him facelessly.

* * *

 

Marco came back to consciousness slowly. The first thing he became aware of was a dull ache in his head, but that was fading well enough. He cracked open his left eye, and was relieved to find no blinding light.

Sensation began returning to his other limbs, and with it situational awareness. He was not tied up. He was not bound in any way. He lay on his back on some kind of uneven stone surface, and based on its temperature and dampness, it was probably a floor. Even stone tables were slightly warmer than this.

Marco sat up slowly, the throbbing of his headache pushed to the back of his mind where he could make himself ignore it. He was in a stone room. But with the roughness of the walls and floors, it was really almost more of a cavern than a formed room. Water, oily, dark water, dripped from the ceiling, forming small pools on the uneven floor. A slight sound could be heard, almost like wind but more like a sigh, brushing cool air against Marco’s face.

There were people.

They stood seemingly random about the room, never more than five or six feet away from the walls. They didn’t acknowledge each other, and they didn’t acknowledge Marco.

They all stood facing the walls, palms pressed against their eyes.

Marco stood slowly, looking about warily. None of them so much as twitched. He might as well not have been in the room for all the reaction they had to his movement. Even when he took his first step, somewhat shaky in the aftereffects of his unconsciousness, and the sound bounced lightly around the room, the figures didn’t react. Didn’t turn. They didn’t seem to even _breathe._

Marco approached one carefully. He didn’t stir, even when Marco drew near. Marco licked his lips. _…What is this?_ He didn’t touch the figure, but after waiting for a few moments for some form of acknowledgment, he addressed the figure.

“Um…I was wondering-“ The figure turned its head slowly, hands over its eyes, and _looked_ right at him.

“Shhh…” it said, voice soft as hearing would allow. “She’ll hear you…” It turned back to face forward slowly, never once moving its hands. Marco’s brows furrowed, but he dropped his voice as the figure asked.

“Who? Who’ll hear me?” The figure didn’t turn to face him this time.

“Don’t look,” it said.

“If you look she gets you,” another, behind Marco said.

“You can’t look,” a third murmured, somewhere to the right. Marco swallowed, feeling apprehension stirring in his stomach.

“She’s _coming_ ,” the one nearest Marco hissed. “She’s coming to get you.”

“She walks in bones,” another whispered.

“It hurts…” one whimpered.

“Who’s coming?” Marco asked. He needed to know what the hell he was going up against.

“Can’t say can’t say can’t _say_ ,” the one nearest him mumbled. “…She…She’ll _know._ ” Its voice dropped to a whisper. “It _hurts…_ ” Marco grabbed its shoulders, intending to turn it to face him, but damn if it wasn’t _rooted_ to the stone.

“Who’s. coming?” he asked, voice hard.

“The girl,” the figure whispered. All the figures in the chamber spoke simultaneously.

_“The girl with the eyes.”_

Marco stood there, stunned. They hadn’t answered his question, not at all, so why did he feel so chilled, down to his bones, to his soul?

A sound grated across his senses, distant but audible in the stillness of the echoing caves. It was metal on stone, one unyielding surface being dragged across another. Marco’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, one of the tunnels that led off into darkness so pure even he couldn’t see the other side.

“She’s _coming,”_ the figure next to him murmured urgently. “She _heard you!”_ Marco swallowed thickly, feeling something akin to fear welling up in his chest. But why? He hadn’t even encountered her yet, how could he know so deep that she was such a danger?

“Don’t look! She’ll-“

The dragging was getting closer. Not fast, not slow. Even. A constant speed, like a leisurely walk but much faster. Marco’s heart _screamed_ at him to go, to leave, that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t stay. His mind, though, rebelled. His mind wanted to _see_.

And just like that, he could. Because _she was here_.

The Girl With The Eyes.

Marco felt all blood drain from his face, all rational thought leave his mind. “ _What the fuck is that?_ ” he found himself breathlessly whispering, voice shaking with denial, with _fear._ Because this girl this _child_ with her dark hair and white dress and _hatchet_ were beyond description were beyond rationality were _beyond. Anything._ Except all that she was.

The Girl with the Eyes.

Marco felt his heart, frozen, petrified in his chest with adrenaline, terror, disbelief, shock, horror, contract painfully, as if it was trying to shrivel up and die so it wouldn’t have to face whatever that _thing_ was going to do. She made no sound as she approached him. Didn’t speak. Her footsteps (bare feet, bare like death) made no noise. But _she. Approached. Him._ Her face, oh _God_ her _face_ getting closer, and that axe that she dragged like it was weightless across the floor behind her, trailing a noise like screams in her wake. And Marco was frozen.

He didn’t have a response for this. Nobody in the _world_ had a response for this.

She drew closer, unblinking, and Marco _died_ under that gaze, Marco agonized and screamed silently and _he saw hell._

His mind was empty, devoid of anything but _terror_ and his body didn’t respond to the frantic commands he sent it. _Run. Go. Flee. Live. _But he couldn’t. He could only stare, horrified, as his mouth moved entirely on its own.

“Real suffering is not known,” his voice whispered to him. And still she approached.

“Real suffering is not known,” his mouth repeated, louder this time. _She speaks through your lips through your mind through your mortality._

“Real suffering is not known.” His voice was stronger now, sure, but it still wasn’t his words and she approached and he wanted to _scream_ but he couldn’t and _oh God just let me **scream**_.

“Real suffering is not known.” The words bled like poison through the air through his blood through _her. eyes._

“Real suffering is not known.” She had crossed the majority of the room and was getting _closer and closer and he couldn’t move and this,_ this _was it-_

“Real suffering is not known.” _What the fuck did those words even **mean?**_ Why couldn’t he stop, his own voice made him want to cut out his tongue, to burst his ears his head-

“Real suffering is not known.” And she was there. Right before him. She stared up at him and he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, as he stared and was swallowed all at once. The hatchet was lifted with one hand like it was made of balsa wood, but Marco could see the head was composed entirely of lead, the handle of iron corroded and rusted with age. _GO!!!!_ his mind screamed, and finally, as if he’d never frozen in the first place, he could.

He bolted.

He heard the hatchet embed itself into the stone of the floor with a sound of breaking stone and protesting metal. Marco didn’t look back, but she was burned into his retinas and he’d never, _never_ unsee what he saw there. _Never._ He could feel her presence in his mind, feel how she pulled the axe out of the floor and turned to follow him, walking on the sides of her feet. Her steps were no more than a measured walk, but her paces seemed to cover more ground than was anywhere near logical. She moved faster than she should, and Marco felt the way he heart hammered against his ribs, willing his feet to move faster.

He was quicker than her, and soon that _horrible sound_ faded behind him, leaving him in silence once more. He kept running, though, wanting to put still more ground between them.

He came to a panting, shuddering stop, having wound down endless tunnels, twists, turns, forks in the path, all were now between him and… _that._ There was no way. _No_ way she could find him after all of that.

True Marco didn’t know where the hell he was, but he hardly cared about that right now.

His breath burned in his throat as he gasped, exertion making his muscles nothing but solid pain. He felt like he’d been running for hours. As the adrenaline began to fade (but never the horror. That wouldn’t leave him, till death and beyond), his knees began to feel more and more like something gelatinous. He sank, shuddering and panting, against the wall.

This room was very, very similar to the one he’d first woken in. Figures just like the ones he’d encountered were spread along the walls, hands pressed over their faces. They hadn’t acknowledged Marco, just as the others hadn’t until he directly addressed them. On his mad sprint here he’d passed others just like them in the long halls. All still. All facing the stone. All with palms pressed so hard against their own skulls their tendons stood like wires against their skin. But now Marco understood it.

He stared at his own shaking hands for a long moment before he finally raised them to his face. His palms fit over his eye sockets like they belonged there, and beneath them there was nothing but darkness and darkness could _never_ hurt as much as what he’d seen. But it wasn’t enough, so he pushed down harder, willing the darkness to contract, to condense, to press back into his skull until it blotted out everything inside it. It hurt, but that was good, and he pushed harder still. His breathing was somewhere between choked sobs and gasps, but he willed it to fall silent, to avoid attention, to pass out of knowing and into that _safety_ of anonymity. But then his heart froze in his chest and his soul shrieked and cowered.

Metal on stone.

 _How?! How did she find me?!_ Marco tried to shrink in on himself, tried to disappear, tried to die. It didn’t work, and the noise drew nearer, sounding for all the world like the screaming of his soul. Marco clutched at his face. He didn’t want to see her, not again, and didn’t want to watch whatever she’d do to him. He drew his knees up to his chest and barricaded his face – hands still pressed over his eyes – behind them. _She won’t find me she won’t find me she can’t find me I’m safe I’m safe I’m safe I’m safe_ The sound was getting closer. He could tell it’d entered the room. _I’m safe I’m safe she can’t get me here she doesn’t see me she won’t find_ Closer still. No signs of slowing at all. _She won’t find me she won’t find me she won’t find me._ The sound stopped.

Right in front of him.

 _She’s not there she can’t find me she hasn’t found me I’m not here she can’t find me she can’t she can’t she can’t-_ Something in Marco, some brash, _mad_ part of his mind pulled his hands away and looked up.

He screamed, trying again to cover his eyes, simultaneously and automatically rolling to the side, dodging a blow by a hair’s breadth. But he was on his feet again and he was running, his mind blinded by terror as _she_ followed him and he could feel her gaze on his back, could still see her face perfectly in his mind, could feel that cold, inhuman gaze that seared his skin. He ran blindly, like prey, down one corridor after another, but always behind him that screech, that harbinger of worse-than-death. Even after the sound faded into distance, Marco still fancied he heard it in his mind, could feel its vibrations in the hairs on the back of his neck.

And most of all, he could still see her face.

He was shaking and panting and his legs _ached_ but he never _dreamed_ of stopping. He’d run to the edge of the earth and off, off into that black void that _safety_. _Nowhere_ was far enough from… _her._

And then he hit the end of the tunnel. Found the door that was there.

And then he realized it was locked.

“No,” he whispered, his voice so harsh and rough from panting, from screaming. He clutched the handle, twisted at it desperately, but the door wouldn’t budge.

And then a sound like hope screaming.

Marco’s eyes widened and he flung himself at the door, pleading for it to open, _begging_ for salvation, but it remained where it was, stuck fast, that tiny keyhole beneath the handle sitting there mocking him. Desperation soared in his mind, only outstripped by his terror, and he could hear her getting closer, could see her face in his mind-

Marco slammed his shoulder hard enough into the door that he heard something beneath the muscle crack, but still it did not budge. His breathing came in gasps, in choked sobs, in blind prayers, but none affected the door.

The sound of her weapon on the ground seemed to magnify impossibly as she drew nearer, and Marco clutched at his head, begging it to stop, falling to his knees, begging to just _die_ just _die_ and please, _please_ , nothing else. He squeezed his eyes shut so hard bright spots swam across his darkened vision, but anything _anything_ was better than her.

_You’re entirely useless. But I’m not about to let her have my fun._

Click.

Marco’s head snapped up, snapped towards the lock, where the tiny sound had come from. He shot to his feet and twisted the handle, ignoring the flaring pain in his collarbone. It spun with well-maintained ease, and Marco was instantly on the other side, turning to shut it-

His eyes caught on her, on her face and he felt his soul collapse, felt his mind die, felt everything inside of him _scream_ in horror even as the door swung shut between them, locking him in and her out. He collapsed back against the wall, shaking, terrified, his mind entirely filled with her face, with her sound. He struggled to remember how to breathe, how to be alive, but he barely could so strong was the pounding of his terror in his ears, the image of that monstrosity in his mind.

He heard her grating draw just up behind the door that separated them, the door that Marco didn’t care _how_ it had unlocked. His guts stiffened and he wanted to flee again, but she stopped behind the door, sound falling into silence. Marco swore even his heart ceased beating for fear of discovery, of _her._ Silence so pure it seemed to crystallize hung in the air for a long while. When it was finally broken, the voice was the barest of whispers. Marco barely heard it through the cracks of the door. But the words chilled his soul and he shuddered, images and sounds and _fear_ not fading like they should. But he knew. They never would, not entirely.

Not until the day he died.

Even when Marco stood shakily, walking away from the door and never, _never_ looking back, her words still echoed in his head.

“…достопримечательностям ада принести своим зрителям еще в.”


	42. Chapter 42

Selma was pretty damn close to being at the end of her rope.

She leaned back against the wall, trying to control her breathing, trying to find a shred of the inner stillness and strength she usually had more than enough of. Because she needed it. And so did her brothers and sisters around her. Selma took another shaky breath, fighting down _pointless_ tears of stress or frustration.

The infirmary was quiet, its current inhabitants all asleep at this hour. Selma was glad for it. She didn’t want anyone to see this little breakdown. She didn’t need help. She was independent, self-sufficient, strong. She could handle this. She _would_ handle this. Even if monsters kept hurting her brothers and sisters, even if it got worse by the _day_. She would handle this. Because if people kept getting hurt, she’d keep being there to patch them back up. They needed her right now, dammit, and she wasn’t about to fail them.

Some of her resolve restored, if not necessarily her strength or spirit, Selma pushed off the wall, walking softly on the wood floor of the infirmary. She checked each patient carefully, making sure no bandages had come loose or I.V.s run out of fluid. And then she came to the last four.

Oyaji.

Marco.

Thatch.

Ace.

She felt tears rising up again, tears of bitter frustration, of resentment. She took a shaky, choked breath.

“What are you all _doing?”_ she asked quietly, voice low enough to not disturb the other patients. Her breath hitched. _“What are you doing?”_ she hissed again, forcing back her tears, letting some of her anger escape in that question, that accusation. She whipped to Thatch.

“Where the hell were you when Vista got attacked?! He needed backup! He needed another sword at his back!” She turned to Marco. “And you, _you_ , didn’t you say, didn’t you _promise_ that you’d always be here to protect the crew, _your family?_ ” She turned to Whitebeard, her breathing hardly more than choked back sobs at this point. _“We need you._ We, your _children_ , need you now! Where are you? What are you _doing?_ Why haven’t you _saved us?”_ she felt terrible, she felt wrong, she felt _unjustified,_ yelling at them, letting them hear the strain and break in each of her words. This ugly part of her, this part that she wished didn’t exist, the part that _blamed._ Sure everyone had it. But she was supposed to be better than this. She turned to Ace.

“And you.” She shook her head slowly. “ _You_.” Her voice became wretched. “ _Why are you doing this to us?”_ A sob, and somehow she wanted to lash out, but she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, she’d _never._ _“Why, Ace?!_ What did we do to deserve it?!” Tears were rising again and she hated herself for this moment of weakness. “You’re our brother we’re supposed to be _family_ so why are you _killing us?!”_ She wanted to shake him, to get an answer, to find justification for the three siblings they’d had to say goodbye to. Today they hadn’t even been able to recover the body. He’d just been _gone._ She fell to her knees, shaking. “…why?” She asked quietly, former passion evaporated. Now all she felt was hurt. Emptiness. Cold. _Alone._

A knock sounded on the door.

Selma blinked, her eyes snapping up to the entryway. Nobody came in and silence fell again. But Selma knew she hadn’t imagined it. Eventually, she forced herself to stand, to walk over, to wipe any signs of her inner struggle and her fatigue off her face. She reached for the cold handle. “Yes?” she asked softly, moving the door open.

There was no one there.

Selma’s brows furrowed. What…? She looked both ways down the hallway, but saw no one. Only darkness. Unsurprising, at 3 AM.

Just as she was about to close the door, she heard another knock. This time from a door a little down the hall, off to her left.

Selma licked her lips. Everyone was asleep at this time of night…right? Except those on watch, and they’d be up on deck. It was only her down here. Her, and those currently dead to the world.

The knock sounded again, softly, unobtrusively, nearly polite.

 _Maybe…_ the timing was a little too perfect for it to be coincidence, right? She swallowed, feeling absurd hope rising in her chest. _Maybe it’s them._

Part of her found this entirely ridiculous. But a lot of her just wanted it. Just wanted it so _badly_ that she didn’t care anymore.

She ran across the hallway, down to the door that had been knocked on. She opened it, finding, once again, nothing on the other side. But soon enough, another door was knocking, and she was off, down several consecutive hallways, through a few connecting rooms, until finally the knock came from a door that she _knew_ was a dead end, and this was it, she knew it she could _tell._ She’d get to see them on the other side.

She threw the door wide, elated smile pulling at her face for the first time in what felt like forever in this hell, her heart tight with happiness.

She faltered, staring at the figure whose back was currently turned to her. He was facing the window, pale moonlight matching his blue jacket to the color of the night sky. Selma didn’t recognize the outfit, but she’d know that tousled black hair from a mile away.

“Ace?” she asked breathlessly. “Is that…Is that really you?” The figure stiffened.

“Don’t!” he snapped, as she moved to take a step towards him. “No closer! I…I don’t want to-“ The muscles in his back seemed to spasm and he hunched in on himself, clutching his arms tightly to his chest, clearly in pain.

“Ace!” She tried to move forward, but her foot had barely touched the floor before he flung one arm out to the side, the other still clutched against his chest.

“DON’T MOVE,” he snarled. “Stay the FUCK away from me!” She faltered, something in her chest smarting at his words.

“…Alright,” she said quietly. “But will you tell me what’s wrong?” Whatever was happening seemed to pass, and he eventually relaxed, straightening again.

“What’s wrong…?” he asked, his voice smoother, cooler than before. She could almost see the smile on his face. “Dear doctor, isn’t it obvious? _I am.”_ He turned, slowly, to face her, and her eyes widened in shock and horror. His face, Ace’s, her _brother’s_ face, mutilated to such an extent. The fishhooks, the stitches, the blood.

“Oh my God Ace, let me help you! What happened? Who did this?” She took another step forward, and this time he didn’t rebuff her.

“Ace did,” he said monotonely, voice dead. Selma stiffened, hesitating.

“What?” she asked quietly. His eyes, sewed open, turned to her and he’d somehow gotten taller, his limbs elongated strangely, his head near the ceiling, nearly 9 feet off the ground.

“Ace did,” he repeated. “He _infected_ me.” He moved his mouth, perhaps trying to actually smile, and fresh blood began to track down his face. “But that’s alright. Yes, that’s alright. Because…” he trailed off, then turned away, back towards the window, his back towards Selma. He seemed to stare out at the sky, stars, moon, or perhaps something only he could see and Selma remained there, unsure, confused.

“Ha. Ha,” he said softly. “Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” His voice rose in volume until it was a near demonic screech. He flung his hands suddenly at his face, spinning to face her once more.

“BECAUSE I CAN SEE WITHOUT MY EYES!” And his fingers dug into his skull before pulling back out, but his eyes didn’t pop out, the optic nerves didn’t snap under the pressure. His eyes _stretched_. The white seemed to elongate as if he were grabbing some form of malleable putty, and he drew his five-foot arms away from his face, his eyes always stretching and bending with them. Selma screamed instinctively, adrenaline and survival instinct throwing her back out the door, slamming it behind her, and sending her running down the corridors, back to the infirmary, her place of being, her place of _safety_.

She threw the door open, then quickly shut and locked it behind her, not caring if the bang of it woke her patients. She tried to turn, tried to run again, but slipped on the wood, collapsing to the floor. She lay there, trembling, and, as the memories of what she’d seen played out again and again in her mind, she felt tears rising and this time didn’t even try to stop them. They flowed, hot and fast down her face, and she sobbed desperately. It was too much. She couldn’t handle this any more. Not alone. This needed to stop. No more death, no more injuries, no more waking nightmares.

She half-crawled, half-stumbled across the floor towards the beds of her comatose patients, not caring what they’d think of her if they could see her now. She flung herself at Whitebeard, tears still streaming from her eyes, clutching at his jacket. These monsters had made her a child again. And only daddies can chase away nightmares.

She clung to him desperately, her sobs renewing again when he didn’t stir, didn’t turn to ask her what was wrong, didn’t wrap his arms, his strength, his protection around her.

“Please, please come back. We need you, we _need_ you, I need you please please please I can’t do this anymore I need help! Oyaji!”

Selma, for the first time in years, eventually sobbed herself to sleep, still clutching at her father.

Still waiting for him to chase the nightmares away.


	43. Chapter 43

Eventually, Marco decided it was time to move. His heartrate was reluctant in slowing down, and part of his chest still felt constricted from the adrenaline, but he was recovering himself. He couldn’t afford to dwell in the past, not right now. Ace needed him too damn much, he had to suck up his own problems, shuck them aside until they got the hell out of here and he could deal with them in a place that _wasn’t_ hell.

Marco stood, pressing his fingertips against the cool stone of the wall for reassurance more than balance. He was okay. He was alive. He was beyond the reach of that creature. That was what mattered right now, that was what he had to focus on. The present. Compartmentalize. Did he think he was going to die, or worse, not ten minutes prior? Sure. But that was true _ten minutes ago._ Not anymore. So he needed to get together and get a move on, because wasted time was just that: wasted. So he didn’t let himself think about either past or future as he walked down that corridor. Didn’t let himself consider what part of his consciousness was trying to tell him. Or…tried not to. But it’s hard to block out your own mind.

_This is Ace. This isn’t just some nightmare, that’s not what Wonderland is. Wonderland. Is. Ace. What kind of person’s mind looks like this?_

_One that’s been through hell, asshole. He’s your little brother. Be a bit more compassionate_. Internal debate was what had kept him mostly sane for a long time. Old habits die hard, especially when he had no one to talk to. Again.

_But-_

_Nope. Not following that train of thought._

_You know you need to consider-_

_No. No I don’t._

Marco shut down the mental debate. It wasn’t helpful, and he didn’t want to follow it through to its conclusion. Instead he turned his thoughts to a more genuinely important topic.

Who is Mr. Savage?

Marco, as per his very nature, had been observing carefully since the very first time Ace had set foot into Wonderland in the memories. He’d watched the behavior, body language, and reactions of and towards each Inhabitant, looking for the giveaway, the thing that would concretely prove it was that specific one-

Marco’s eyes shifted as he thought, resting on the floors, walls, etc., but now they caught on something that stopped him dead in his tracks, eyes wide in surprise.

“Ace?!”

Marco instantly rushed forward towards the slumped, childish, apparently unconscious form. He was laid out on a ledge of sorts, a few feet above Marco’s head. One arm hung limply from the side of the platform, and Marco could see the familiar head of tousled black hair, even if his face was turned away, expression hidden from view.

It was for this reason he didn’t see the smirk of triumph.

“Ace, can you hear me? Are you alright? Are you hurt?” One of the dangling fingers twitched, and suddenly the room was perfectly circular, no doors or passageways indicating any kind of exit. There was no sound, however, and Marco didn’t notice the change. The figure allowed a full grin to come to his face before lifting himself up via his somewhat emaciated arms, turning his head to look at Marco.

“…You’re too old to be justifiably this naïve.” Marco stiffened.

“…Ace?” The figure rolled his neck, then shifted backwards, stretching, arms extended in front of him. He wore no shirt, the sinewy, underfed muscles contorting beneath his skin.

Like a cat.

He stretched like a cat.

Marco took a step back, instantly cautious, wary. The figure made no response, save flopping back down on the stone, left arm dangling off the edge again. His face was turned towards Marco this time. He grinned.

“Hello, Marco,” he said genially. Marco didn’t respond, regarding him warily. A dark eyebrow was cocked in his direction, mocking grin cast. “What’s the matter? Freudian slip got your tongue?” Marco took another cautious step back, he wanted as much space as possible between them.

“No. In fact not.” His voice was neutral, his eyes fixed on the figure. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. Couldn’t afford to, in this case. He had to deal with this delicately. The figure, meanwhile, had propped himself up on his forearms, resting his face in one palm, the other hand tucked out of sight.

“…You know, Marco, I’m so… _bored,_ ” the figure mused. “So very, very bored. This game is going to take _forever_ and the fun part doesn’t start until you’re out of this hellhole.” The figure pouted almost comically. “Chess is no fun to watch when you know how the game is going to end.” Marco licked his lips, putting another step of distance between them.

“…How is the game going to end?” he asked. His eyes were dark with interest. “You really aught to share.” His gaze fell to a borderline glare, so focused was he, waiting for any sudden movement from the prone figure, “Cheshire.”

The cat-not-cat’s gaze instantly focused on him, grin spreading further. He laughed, sitting up more fully and spreading his arms in a broad gesture.

“Well? What do you think? Only took me a few tries to get it right. Metamorphosis isn’t as hard as you make it sound, Marco.” His gaze darkened. “I don’t like being underestimated.” He straightened, eyes shifting instead to the wall. “But I digress. There is a legitimate reason, you know. For why I let you live. For why that door unlocked. For why Hatter didn’t make your brains facepaint.” Marco’s gaze didn’t waver. He blinked as infrequently as possible.

“And why would that be?” The way he stated it, it was barely a question. Cheshire’s gaze shifted back to him and Marco could see, now, how that chilled gold hoop dangled from his right ear. He grinned, gaze frosty.

“Because you’ve _wronged_ me, Marco.” Without Marco even blinking, he was suddenly beside him, standing on tiptoe, face right beside Marco’s.

He didn’t breathe.

“You’ve been asking questions. _Naughty_ questions.” Cheshire seemed to teleport again, now behind Marco, out of sight. “There are things you’re not supposed to know, Marco. Things you were never supposed to know.” Now Cheshire was directly in front of him, grin as wide as ever. “…What do you think I should do about your questions, Marco? I killed the Hatter, to get him to shut the fuck up. But you’re not going to stop.” He was so close Marco could have tasted his breath, if the cat breathed. “I had to come up with a way to get you to pipe down. At first I thought about killing you, since I’m going to do it later anyway, but then I decided on something much more amusing. Something you’ll find far more agonizing.” Cheshire smiled seemingly sweetly. “And I mean that in a purely non-physical way. Otherwise it wouldn’t do much good on you now would it?” Cheshire reached up, placing one hand on the side of Marco’s face. His fingers were slightly cold, and seemed far too long, stretching up into his hair.

“I’m going to do something nobody expects, just to give this game some fucking life again. And I’ll enjoy watching you squirm, watching you watch, watching you try to figure it out, watching you fear, watching you wonder how in hell you never noticed before. And then I’m going to watch you despair. Because you’ll finally realize there’s nothing you ever could have done. You cast your dice, Marco. You got snake-eyes.” For some reason, Marco couldn’t move, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t even twitch. He could only stare into Cheshire’s eyes. “Your price, your consequence, your punishment?” Cheshire was grinning, looking like a glutton before a feast.

“Your punishment is the truth.”

Cheshire opened his mouth, and his jaw seemed to hinge back, the opening a massive cavern filled with blackness, no throat or teeth visible. Marco, with all the logic of a nightmare, found himself being pulled into Cheshire’s face, being sucked in, shoved in by that pestilent hand on his face and suddenly he wasn’t outside looking in, he was inside looking desperately out, struggling to go back to that fading, tiny light as it vanished in the distance, reaching for it, arm extended-

Cheshire snapped his jaws shut, clapping his hands over his mouth. He giggled.

* * *

 

“…What are you trying to do? You really think that will help you?” the Mannequin asked, slumped as ever in his chair, studying the board.

“Are you saying it’s an illegal move?” Whitebeard asked, sliding his other piece into the same square as the first one. The mannequin didn’t move, but Whitebeard felt as if he were being intensely studied.

“…Not illegal. But-“

“Last time I checked, you’re not allowed to dictate my moves.” Whitebeard could nearly feel the Mannequin’s annoyance. It didn’t match his own forcefully subdued anger at the Mannequin, at this game that was _wasting time,_ or his worry for his sons and daughters in the world above, in danger, in _peril_ , and some injured-

“Dead now, you know,” the Mannequin’s voice was nonchalant. Whitebeard stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“Three dead. Wait…make that four. Hatter showed up and went on a little tantrum. And Carpenter was there the day before. He beat the ever loving shit out of someone…” The Mannequin trailed off, seemingly distracted, or disinterested.  Whitebeard’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“…You’re lying.”

“Why? Why would I lie?”

“…To set me off. To make me reckless. To make me lose.” Whitebeard smiled triumphantly. “But it won’t work. _I saw Hatter unlive._ ” Whitebeard could imagine the slow smile that slithered onto the Mannequin’s not-face.

“…Unlive? Who told you that term? …I think you’ve failed to understand its full definition.” The Mannequin’s neck straightened, its not-face staring straight at Whitebeard.

“Everything down here is temporary at best. Ace, as a human being, changes constantly. Hatter? He was only unalive for a matter of hours. So yes, he was aboard your ship, and _yes_ , he _was_ able to do quite a bit of damage.” The Mannequin slumped again, head falling back to the side. “Not that you seem to particularly ca-“ He snapped suddenly upright, jolted as if with electricity. The tension in the air was palpable.

“…Interloper,” the Mannequin whispered, hissed, voice sizzling with rage. “Interloper. Cheater. _INFIDEL!”_ His voice rose in volume until it was an inhuman screech, the whole room seemed electrified with anger, Whitebeard felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “GET OUT YOU’RE NOT PART OF THIS LEAVE YOU FESTERING MONSTER OUT OUT OUT DAMN SPOT OUT OUT OU-“ he tensed up, seeming to be on the verge of exploding, and Whitebeard saw a crack split its way down one of his arms. His head lurched to a sudden 90 degree angle, his voice cutting off, falling to silence and the rage with it.

Unlived.

Unlived just like Hatte-

“It would seem one of your pieces isn’t in the correct place.” The Mannequin’s voice was suddenly back to its silky calmness. Whitebeard jumped slightly at the sound. He hadn’t been expecting it to speak. “Everyone’s happy these days…” the Mannequin whispered, voice so quiet it was barely audible. There was something…foreign in his voice. Some undertone that hadn’t been there before. Whitebeard recognized it, but he couldn’t place it. All he knew was that it didn’t belong. Not _here._ Slowly the Mannequin reached forward, delicate fingers clasping around one of the pawns and sliding it across the board, towards itself, until it rested a mere two spaces from its edge of the board. It flopped back in its chair, unmoving once more. Whitebeard stared at in confusion, but it neither moved nor spoke. The silence stretched.

 _Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth._ Whitebeard jolted, not expecting the voice, and certainly not in his own head.

 _Who’s there?_ It felt odd, to have to ask that in his own head. Odder still, when he received no response.

“It’s your turn,” the Mannequin said, slumped in its chair. “You get to move.” Its voice seemed more hollow than before, none of the previous sinister omniscience hanging in its voice. Whitebeard stared at it for a moment longer, then reached out. _…I wonder._ He seized the piece that was closer to him, the one the mannequin hadn’t moved across the board. He slid it across the wooden surface, to where the other piece rested. It should have been an illegal move, covering far more than the allowed number of spaces. The Mannequin didn’t react. Didn’t speak.

* * *

 

Thatch fell to the ground, his whole mind feeling as if he’d just been thrown sideways. His head rang with disorientation, the whole world feeling like it’d just been pitched around, flipped upside down and hurled against a wall. Intense vertigo had him clinging to the floor, feeling like if he let go he’d fall…up? Down? He couldn’t be sure which way was which. It could very well be sideways, for all he knew.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained there, clinging for dear life, fighting not to vomit, his inner ear telling him he was falling, or moving, or weightless or switching arbitrarily between the three every few seconds.  When it finally settled, it wasn’t some gentle calming of the sensation. Rather, he felt like he was slammed into the floor, like all the weight of gravity had just decided to kick back in, shoving him against the stone like it had never left at all. It drove the air from his lungs and he lay there, gasping, trying to readjust.

Finally, still unwilling to entirely release the floor, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, shaky, pale, cold sweat on his face and back. _Okay. Good start. This is good._ He tried to work up the nerve to get to his feet, but with his stomach still feeling like it was trying to crawl up his throat, that wasn’t really happening. _Baby steps. Baby steps. You got this. You’ve only been standing your whole fucking life._ Thatch took a deep breath, moving one hand to the wall to brace himself. Finally, hands still trembling, he pressed himself up to standing.

The world, for one lurching moment, spun, and he leaned heavily on the wall, trying not to either throw up or pass out. Finally it stilled, though, and after a moment’s hesitation, he drew his hand back from the wall. Nothing. He could stand normally. No move dizziness, no more vertigo. He took a tiny step forward, relieved to find he could do that too.

 _Well that took long enough. How about actually making some progress huh?_ Thatch shuffled across the room, still taking fairly small steps, wary of another random bout of disorientation. He could see a door at the other side of the chamber. He’d been walking for it when the vertigo had floored him.

After what was, in all honesty, far too long a time, Thatch reached the door. The handle felt cool under his hand, and the wood was solid oak. When he touched it, though, something in his heart constricted painfully, some part of the back of his mind, some animalistic, instinctive part shuddered. _Don’t go through this door,_ it said. _You won’t like what’s on the other side._

Thatch, as a general rule, listened to his instincts. It was instincts that carried you through combat, that got you to dodge a blow based on the split second glimpse out of the corner of your eye of an incoming attack. Instinct kept you alive.

But this wasn’t combat, and it wasn’t just his own life he could be concerned with right now.

He weighed his options for another moment, then, in one swift movement, twisted the handle and threw the door wide.

The other room was as ambiguously lit as the one Thatch was in. There were no visible light sources, yet the floor and walls were illuminated, as if lit from above. The ceiling stretched up into undefined blackness. The uneven stone persisted, the wooden door scraping over the floor roughly. Subterranean chill was nestled as comfortably in this room as the last. Thatch stepped through the door warily, still hesitant due to his ever-increasingly troubled instincts. The door swung shut behind him, clicking shut with echoing finality. Thatch wished it had made less sound.

The door was tucked back into a kind of niche, and so most of the room was still obscured from his view. He stepped forward, on edge, unsure of what to expect. His heart palpitated harshly, painfully in his chest, part of him screaming to turn back. Thatch tried to reason with himself that there was no threat yet, that there was nothing he needed to run _from._ He stepped around the corner, coming fully into the chamber, his heart lurching jarringly in his chest.

His eyes took in the occupant of the room and widened.

“Marco?!”

Thatch rushed forward towards his prostrate friend. As he drew nearer he could see he was breathing. He was alive. Part of Thatch heaved a sigh of relief, but far more of him was still urging him to turn back and run before…something. Nevertheless, his best friend was lying unconscious on the floor, whether from some kind of attack or otherwise as of yet unsure, and hell if Thatch would just leave him there. He knelt by Marco’s side, grasping him by the shoulders. He shook him gently, trying to rouse him.

“Marco! Marco, wake up!”

Nothing. Thatch shook him a little harder, wanting to remain as gentle as possible in case Marco had been injured. It was weird. Marco felt…wrong, somehow. It was like… Almost as if… It clicked in Thatch’s mind.

It was like Marco wasn’t there at all.

His sensory Haki worked to some degree down here, and he would have been able to recognize the presence of his brother absolutely, especially if he were right beside him, as he were now. Or…as his body was. Thatch felt growing concern. He shook Marco more forcefully.

“Marco, dammit! Wake up!”

Marco’s eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, screaming bloody murder.

Thatch reeled back, taken entirely by surprise. Marco was frantic, desperate, and after that single bloodcurdling shriek was now panting fiercely, hyperventilating in panic. He ripped off his shirt, his hands scrabbling desperately at his bare back. He cried out again, but this time more in pain than in fear, and his spine arched in agony.

“Marco, what’s wrong? Talk to me what happened what’s going on?!” Thatch wanted to help, but was unsure of what exactly was happening.

“GET IT OFF GET IT THE FUCK OFF ME GET IT AWAY-“ Marco was clawing at his back, his fingernails leaving red tracks on his skin. (Grin wide grin wide grin wide everyone’s happy these days)

“Marco calm down! Let me help you, what can I do?” Marco was going to draw blood soon if he kept this up. As he moved to claw again at his back, Thatch grabbed his wrists, keeping him from further harming himself. “What is it, Marco? What’s hurti-“

“IT’S IN MY SKIN YOU NEED TO GET IT OFF I DON’T WANT IT THERE I NEED TO GET RID OF IT-“ (Circuses and blood and death and death and death and screams like hell itself) Marco’s hyperventilation seemed to be catching up to him and Thatch felt him sway, the lack of oxygen making him nearly faint.

“Okay, Marco, just breathe. It’s okay. It’s okay, I can help you with whatever it is. Just calm down, okay?” Marco was gulping air like his life depended on it now, the deep, shuddering inhales seeming to have a calming effect on him. He still seemed desperate, though now he seemed more cognizant and less frenzied about it. He turned to look over his shoulder at Thatch with wide eyes.

“GET IT OFF! I- It can’t stay- _Peel off my skin I don’t care just get it OFF!”_ Thatch stared at Marco, shocked. (Climb the trapeze it’s your turn grin wide like me it doesn’t hurt because I won’t let it hurt anymore I’m not weak I’m not helpless I’m not I’m not don’t call me that don’t you ever EVER EVER CALL ME THAT)

“Marco…” Thatch’s eyes were simultaneously searching and frightened. “…There’s…There’s nothing there. It’s just your skin.” Marco shuddered, a spastic tremor shooting down his spine. (Not weak not helpless not helpless don’t you dare call me that you won’t like the-)

“…Too late…” he whispered, more to himself than to Thatch. His throat seemed to constrict, as if intent on strangling him, before words that were barely his own stumbled like lepers out of his mouth. “Welcome to the show…” (A grin spread across his face. This was turning out even better than expected.)

“What was that?” Thatch asked, bending down, trying to catch Marco’s whisper-thin speech. Marco fell silent, too horrified at the phrase that had passed his mouth. He shook lightly.

“Oh God…” he whispered, freeing his wrists from Thatch’s now relaxed grip, clapping one hand over his mouth, the other clutching the fabric of Thatch’s sleeve. He felt a prickling in his eyes, as well as a consuming emptiness in his chest. “Oh _God_.” (Hahahahahaha how pathetic look at him shake like a leaf.)

“What is it? Marco, what happened? What’s wrong? What happened to you?” Thatch asked, voice portraying his distress. Marco turned wide, nearly childish eyes to Thatch.

“Thatch…I…We’ve made a huge mistake.” His eyes unfocused, and he stared off at the wall instead of Thatch’s face. “Oh my God. What have we _done?”_ Thatch grabbed Marco by the shoulders, turning him to face him.

“Marco, you need to speak clearly. I don’t understand. What mistake did we make?” Marco shook his head, still not looking at Thatch’s face. He went limp, sitting back.

“We can’t do it. We just can’t.” Thatch resisted the urge to shake Marco, try to get him to make sense.

“We can’t _what?”_ Marco looked right in Thatch’s eyes, gaze full of grief and shock and _fear._ He shook his head slowly.

“We can’t bring Ace back.”

(His grin split to reveal a pink tongue that swiped over his bitten wrist where his blood had spread after he smeared it on Marco’s back.)


	44. Chapter 44

Thatch stared at Marco, eyes wide with disbelief. He felt raw emotion swelling in his chest, and his gaze hardened.

“…What did you just say?” he said, voice quiet. Marco turned wide eyes to Thatch.

“We can’t bring Ace back. Not that we couldn’t, Thatch. We _shouldn’t._ You don’t get it, you don’t understand, there’s something _down here_ and if we bring Ace back it’ll come back too-“ Marco buried his face in his hands. “And I didn’t understand before, but now I do. We can’t kill Mr. Savage, Thatch. We can’t do it. No one can. Not even Ace. He’s an _idea_ , a _thought,_ a _feeling_. The metaphysical can’t die, they can only be made to grin _like_ death-“

The punch sent Marco sprawling to the floor, Thatch’s glare hard with rage.

“You listen to me. I don’t care _what_ you think you saw or _what_ one of these assholes down here told you, _Ace is your little brother._ So _what_ if we can’t kill Mr. Savage? _So. Fucking. What._ We still have to try, you pathetic bastard!” He grabbed Marco by the shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You look me in the face and you _tell me_ that all the times Ace laughed with us, all the times he fought alongside us, all the times he smiled and sang and _lived_ with us, _you tell me that was a lie._ You tell me the Ace that we came down here to save isn’t real.” Marco stared, wide-eyed, at Thatch. “I swear to God, if they convinced you of that, then _you’re_ the one who’s beyond saving, Marco.” Marco started, then grabbed Thatch’s shoulders.

“That’s right! You can’t bring _me_ back either!” He shook Thatch, eyes hard, nearly desperate. Thatch stared back in mixed horror and shock. That response hadn’t been the one he expected. “Thatch you have to-“ Marco cut off, almost like the other words stuck in his throat, like he couldn’t make himself say them. He stared at Thatch for a moment longer, then blinked, once, twice, rapidly. And when he did, his eyes seemed to focus, and his pupils dilated, his eyes seeming to shine with more light than before. He shuddered in Thatch’s grip, raising a hand to press against his head. He licked his lips, his eyes casting to the floor.

“…My God. Why would I…?” His voice was rough, like the enunciation of each syllable took massive effort. He looked back up to Thatch, gaze confused. “I…I don’t even know what to say. Something came over me- I don’t-“ He lifted his other hand, studying it closely. Slowly he allowed it to fall back by his side, shifting his gaze to Thatch’s face. “…You’re right.” His voice and eyes were serious. “…You’re absolutely right. Ace is worth saving. And we’re going to be the ones that do it. We’re _going_ to save our brother.” Thatch met his eyes squarely, and seeing nothing but resolve in Marco’s eyes, allowed his gaze to soften.

“Damn straight.” He clapped Marco on the shoulder. “Glad you snapped out of whatever the hell _that_ was.” He stood, pulling Marco to his feet before turning towards the corridor stretching in front of them. “Now let’s get a move on. Time waits for no man, as they say, and I’m ready to get out of this damned place.” Marco stared after him for a moment, then a triumphant grin split his face and he nodded briskly.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

There was only one white space between the pieces and the edge of the board.

One. White. Space.

Whitebeard, without the Mannequin’s disapproval, moved both pieces simultaneously onto that square. This was it. The last move of the game Whitebeard didn’t pretend to understand. He was glad it had been expedited, though, although thinking about what repercussions that apparent ‘stroke of good luck’ had had soured the impending victory. What had it cost him? Nothing down here was for free. He couldn’t trust that this had just happened, no, someone had _willed it_ , had made it to be so, and Whitebeard knew it wasn’t for his agenda.

One white space.

And then Caterpillar.

And then Queen.

And then Ace.

And then home.

He was alternately terrified and excited. Excited to see his family again, terrified to see what state the ravages of Wonderland had left them in. They wouldn’t be whole, as he’d left them, that much was for certain. That knowledge poisoned his heart like lead. According to the Mannequin, at least three of his children were gone forever.

Part of him wanted to blame Ace.

Part of him wanted to blame Ace really badly.

 _But he’s not doing this on purpose. It’s not his fault he’s like this,_ Whitebeard tried to rationalize. And that led him to the true, deserving target of his anger.

Edward Hare.

Whitebeard would scour the world to find him. And he’d teach him what it meant to hurt anyone under Whitebeard’s protection. What it meant to scar one of his children to such an extent as this. Whitebeard felt his heart ache, thinking of all Ace had been through. And why hadn’t he told them? All that pain – what good did keeping it bottled up do? Ace should have known that Whitebeard would help him find and get revenge on Hare if that was what he wanted. As a general rule, Whitebeard found revenge to be the wrong course of action, but this was undoubtedly an exception. Why had Ace hidden this? Shame? Whitebeard could understand that, if it were Ace’s motivation, but didn’t Ace know he’d find nothing but sympathy from his comrades, his family? Something there didn’t add up. He’d been willing to tell Whitebeard that he was Roger’s son of his own free will, and Whitebeard knew Ace kept that secret closer than all others.

Except apparently not.

Maybe Ace had just wanted to forget it? Leave it all in the past and just try not to think about it again? Plausible, but Whitebeard couldn’t help but feel there must be something _more_. There was one last piece to this, and when it fell into place he’d understand, but right now he was left grasping at straws. But that had to wait. Because right now he should only concentrate on one thing.

One. White. Square.

 

* * *

 

The corridor wasn’t as long as the last, and it was better lit. Doors lined the walls, but upon testing the handles they were all found to be locked. The stone was more evenly cut here, fewer random niches or ledges ridging the walls and floors. Thatch was walking fairly fast, but he could hear Marco’s footsteps following just behind him, keeping pace. They tested each door they passed, but none opened.

“…Hey, Marco?” Thatch asked, curious and slightly uneasy.

“Hmm?”

“…What was it you saw or that happened to you that freaked you out so much?” Thatch’s voice was quiet, reverent. Looking back, the whole experience was bizarre. He’d never seen Marco like that before. Desperate, terrified. Hell, the most one usually saw from Marco as far as fear went was slight trepidation. It took a _lot_ to get Marco worked up.

Marco was silent for a long moment, seeming to consider his words. They kept walking down the hallway as they talked, testing doors as they went. Thatch heard Marco’s breath catch in his throat as if he’d been about to say something then stopped himself. After a moment he started again. “…I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried, Thatch.” Marco’s voice had that same rough quality it had taken on before. “There was- It was some kind of creature. I couldn’t see, it was too dark, but it was like it was _in my mind._ And it…it whispered things, and when they were in my own head they seemed true…” he trailed off. “And even after I managed to get away, I could still hear it. It wasn’t until a little ‘direct recalibration’ that my head started working the way it should again.” Marco chuckled lightly. Thatch winced slightly, but laughed too. He’d punched Marco _hard._ Almost anyone else would have been knocked unconscious from the combined blows of the punch and then having their head collide with a stone floor.

“You don’t have a concussion, do you?” Thatch asked, a little belatedly. Marco chuckled again.

“No, I don’t think so. Not sure it’s even _possible_ to get a concussion down here-“ Marco cut off as he stumbled through the door that he hadn’t expected to open. Unlike all the others, this one wasn’t locked. Thatch was instantly beside him, peering into the room.

The chamber was moderately sized, containing a bed, dresser, nightstand, and another door leading off to a connecting room. The furniture was simple, but almost nice in that way. It was…almost like a hotel room. The furniture was standard enough that there could be hundreds exactly like it. The room seemed to have no occupant. Nonetheless, Thatch felt like they shouldn’t go in. It felt…sick in there. Something in the air made Thatch’s heart clench.

“…Marco I think we should keep moving,” Thatch said quietly. Marco glanced back at him, smiling slightly.

“The first unlocked door in the whole hall and you want to just pass it by? Where’s your curiosity?” Marco’s voice still had that odd roughness to it. “And besides, don’t you think it’s important to experience as much of Wonderland as we can? It’ll help us to better understand Ace when we get back out. If we can find all the problems while we’re down here, we’ll be one step closer to fixing them in the real world. Maybe Ace is trying to show us something by leaving this door open.” Marco stepped forward, not waiting for Thatch.

“Marco!” Thatch hissed, but Marco was already passed the threshold, looking about the room, opening the drawers of the dresser, searching the nightstand. Thatch followed hesitantly, stepping lightly. The place had the air of a tomb, and by even entering Thatch felt he was desecrating, breaking some kind of huge, unspoken taboo. “Marco we should leave,” he said breathlessly. This wasn’t right. Thatch didn’t like this place. Hated it. His heart felt tight and clenched in his chest, and he breathed shallowly. Marco turned back to Thatch, grinning slightly.

“No, not yet. There’s something in here we need to see.” He turned, finally, to the connecting door, and when he gripped the handle Thatch nearly felt nauseous. They weren’t supposed to be here. Thatch could tell. Marco turned the handle, pulling the door open.

On the other side was a bathroom, carrying the same simplicity of the bedroom. A simple clawfoot tub rested against one wall, and watery, pale light filtered through an opaque window on the wall above it, illuminating the whole room. _There shouldn’t be natural light down here_ , Thatch thought. _We’re underground. A good ways underground. That light isn’t right._ The floor was white tile, the walls a soft blue, the wallpaper old and slightly faded but still intact. A basin and metallic pitcher rested on a small table against the wall directly across from the door.

The only exception to the inexpensive simplicity of the room was the floor length mirror in its dark wood fame, in the front right corner of the room.

The Estrella stood before it. In profile. Naked.

The pale, human hands were resting on its low belly, stroking over the smooth skin there, and its eyes, via the reflection of the mirror, were fixed on its stomach.

It was a hermaphrodite.

The breasts on its chest marked it female, but the penis and testicles clearly said otherwise. It seemed to be aware of their presence, but uncaring, and unabashed of its nudity. Its hands still continued their slow tracing of its low stomach. “I’ll start showing soon,” it said quietly, hands coming to rest on its stomach, over the place the uterus would be in a female. “The baby…” It smiled, eyes never leaving its reflected stomach. “It won’t be long now.” Slowly it bent, picking up something from the ground. “I have to make sure to keep these nearby…” it said faintly. It seemed to be talking more to itself than to Marco or Thatch.

The old scissors reflected the watery light dully as the Estrella turned them about in one hand.

“…The baby needs a way out, after all. Should I cut it out of my stomach or make a vagina?” it asked itself. It was still smiling faintly. “Should have been born a girl…” it whisper-sung to itself. It seemed to go nearly pensive. “Boys don’t fuck boys. So…I’m a girl. Obviously.” Its smile returned, its eyes going nearly dreamy.

“Hare loves me, you know.” For the first time, its eyes were focused on Marco and Thatch via the mirror. “He does. That’s why he made love to me. He wanted me to have his baby.” It pressed its free hand against its stomach gently, eyes closing in bliss. “And now I am so he’ll love me even more.” Its eyes reopened, returning to Thatch and Marco. “What should I name the baby, do you think? I suppose it depends if it's a boy or a girl…” Its eyes turned back to its own reflection in the mirror, smiling quietly down at its stomach. “He’s going to be so happy. With the baby, with me…” It started to hum quietly to itself, regaining that former careless unfocus.

Thatch didn’t even know what to say.

Thatch didn’t even know what to think.

“Pretty fucked up, isn’t it?” Thatch turned to the source of the voice, near the door to the bedroom, still too much in shock, in horror, to even formulate a response.

The figure was petite, no taller than Thatch’s shoulder, and appeared to be about 17. Dressed in a loose shirt, which hung to its mid-thigh, it was impossible to tell its gender. Ace’s black, tousled hair doused its head, but hung longer than it did on Ace. Nearly effeminate, but not quite enough to be gender specific. It had Ace’s eyes, but they were slightly larger. It shared Ace’s mouth shape as well, but its lips were a little fuller, a little darker. Freckles spattered its face artistically, like each one was carefully placed for beauty and symmetry. Its loose smock hung off one of its shoulders, accentuating its long, elegant neck, and it leaned against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other, showing a scandalous amount of thigh.

It was an extremely sexualized, teenage Ace. Except Thatch couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl.

Its eyes were focused on the Estrella and it held equal parts pity and anger in its gaze. Slowly, it shifted its attention back to Thatch. “That shouldn’t exist. But there’s no way to unmake it. And it’s why Ace is so scared of me.” It stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Thatch’s shoulder, the other on Marco’s. Its gaze shifted between the two with sympathy. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this one. Leave it be. Disgusting and repulsive as it may be, it is harmless.” It applied gentle pressure to Thatch’s shoulder, steering him away from the bathroom, back into the bedroom, then finally out into the hall. Once they were passed the door, the newcomer shut it before locking it with a key pulled from a necklace about its neck. Thatch’s mouth was still dry, the image, the words still seared into his mind. Marco didn’t look much better, pale, a hand pressed loosely over his mouth, eyes wide.

The stranger put a cool, smooth hand on Thatch’s cheek and he flinched slightly, eyes snapping from the door to its face. “It’s okay,” it said. “It’s my fault. I was supposed to keep that door locked. I wasn’t expecting you two so soon.” Thatch, with something between a gasp and a sob, inhaled a lungful of air, and though he still couldn’t begin to comprehend what he’d seen, he tried to get his mind working again.

“What…What was that in there?” he choked. The stranger allowed its hand to fall from Thatch’s face, fingertips brushing once against his throat. It sighed, sounding almost sad.

“…I suppose…a kind of fucked up Stockholm’s Syndrome. Plus Ace’s – the 10-year-old Ace’s – confusion and miscomprehension about what Hare and those other men did to him.” It smiled at Thatch, even though the expression was weak. “It’s…part of him now. My antithesis.” It extended a hand in introduction, smiling almost lewdly. “I’m the Duchness.” Thatch shook its hand and its eyes remained focused on him, slipping its hand away almost reluctantly. It turned to Marco, repeating the process. Marco was staring at it curiously.

“…You’re not…?” The Duchness chuckled, one hand darting up to flit at its mouth for a moment.

“…Dead? Indeed not,” the Duchness said lightly. It turned, beginning to head down the hallway. “Come on. We’ll talk more but it’s not comfortable out here.” Thatch glanced at Marco, and, still feeling like a good pound of lead sat in his stomach, followed.

The Duchness led them to a room near the very end of the hallway. When he? She? (Thatch still couldn’t deduce which) Opened the door, the room revealed bore resemblance to the Estrella’s. There was a little more ornamentation in this room, though, and it was lit by a hanging lamp in the center of the ceiling as well as a few odd smelling candles on the bedside table and dresser. A bit more furniture (an armchair and a small couch gathered about a little table) decorated the center of this slightly larger room, and a thick rug dominated the majority of the floor.

Upon entering the room, the Duchness instantly flung him/herself on the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the satiny sheet atop it and burrowing his/her face into the material. The mixed sigh and groan of satisfaction he/she made should have been _illegal_ it was so suggestive.  He/she rolled over on the bed so that he/she was facing Marco and Thatch, lying on his/her back, a little tangled in the sheet and hair mussed. “I take it you won’t be wanting tea?” Jesus. Thatch was no expert, but he was pretty sure a tone of voice that sultry shouldn’t be used for a question like that.

“No, thank you,” Marco said, a little stiffly. It seemed he found this just as strange a mix of incredibly awkward and bizarre as Thatch did. The Duchness smiled, looking amused. He/she slid to his/her feet, padding over, smirking at Marco, letting some of his/her hair fall in his/her face. He/she stepped close to Marco, not touching, but far closer than personal space generally allowed. He/she looked up into Marco’s face, still smirking.

“Oh, my, Marco! Are you _nervous_ … _?”_ The Duchness cocked his/her head slightly, face mere breaths from Marco’s.

“What are you?” Marco said, voice neutral. “Why aren’t you dead like everyone else?” The Duchness pouted, stepping back.

“You’re no fun, Marco.” He/she turned to Thatch, smiling at him conspiratorially. “What about you? Will _you_ play with me?” He/she stepped closer to Thatch, placing a hand, feather light, against Thatch’s chest.

“Ah, um, n-no.” Holy shit this was really fucking weird. The Duchness’ smile  instantly fell, hand drawing away.

“Aaaaugh you guys are so _boring,”_ he/she groaned in melodramatic despair, turning away from Thatch and Marco to collapse back on the bed. “And here I thought maybe, just _maybe_ I could finally have some fun…” he/she mumbled to him/herself.

“Answer my question,” Marco said firmly, visibly more relaxed now that the Duchness had stepped away. The Duchness rolled over so he/she could see them, still pouty.

“Alright fine. But really it should be obvious.” The smile returned to his/her face, still as sultry and lewd as before. “I’m twenty years of lust crammed in a box and expected to behave. I’m all of Ace’s sexual desire, the natural human pleasure-seeking instinct. Target or method or sentiment doesn’t matter to me, I’m pretty fucking desperate after all this time. As for why I’m not dead, that’s simple enough. I’m a cause of fear for Ace. Fear can’t warp me because I’m already what he’s afraid of. He’s scared of sexual interaction of any kind and scared of what I represent because he doesn’t want to go through the same agony Hare put him through before or inflict it on anyone else. But it sucks to be me because he keeps me trapped down here and let me tell _you_ , that’s not healthy.” The Duchness began to pout again, voice shifting to a whine. “I’m a natural part of _every_ person, why can’t I be allowed to express myself? It’s not _fair.”_ The Duchness pushed him/herself up, half kneeling, fingers twined in the sheets. “I’m _lonely_ and _bored_ and _repressed_ and all I want is one _fucking_ night but _noooooooooo_ , I’m too ‘ _scary’_.” The Duchness’ indignation was nearly childish in nature, all pouty lips and whining voice. “And it’s all Hare’s and that God _damned_ fucking Estrella’s fault! If Ace weren’t just such a fucking _baby_ and had just accepted what happened for what it _was-“_

“Rape isn’t something _anyone_ should have to _accept_ , Duchness. It’s cruel and loveless and inhumane.” Thatch’s voice was cold, and his gaze was steely hard. The Duchness’ eyes snapped to him, and he practically leapt off the bed, slamming Thatch into the wall, no more than an inch of air separating their faces.

“Don’t you _get it?”_ The Duchness leaned in, licking up Thatch’s neck once.“I don’t _care_ about any of that! _Love_ has _nothing_ to do with me, hell, _gender_ doesn’t even matter! I’m _lust_ I’m _sex_ I’m the fucking _whore_. So _what_ if those men didn’t love Ace? _So. Fucking. What?”_ The Duchness smiled, cold and beautiful and furious. “And don’t get all _fucking_ high and mighty with me, _Thatch._ How many women have _you_ slept with? You can’t claim every one-night-stand was _lovemaking._ Consent is purely conditional and _love_ is nothing more than glorified _desire,_ a word poets use to justify fucking like _rabbits._ ” The Duchness’ face softened slightly, but he/she still held Thatch pressed against the wall. “Do I think Ace needs to grow the fuck up? Yes. But that’s because I don’t attach any sentimentality or meaning to the fact that 12 men fucked him without his consent. You and I disagree because you operate on emotion and attachment. I’m pure viscerality. You’ll never change me and I’ll never change you, so move on with your life.” The Duchness dropped his/her voice to a whisper. “And you better count yourself _damn_ lucky Ace left specific instructions about you or I’d have had you both on this rug _begging_ for me.” His/her face morphed to a smile. “Regardless of whether you necessarily wanted me to or not.” And with that, the Duchness withdrew, releasing Thatch’s shirt and turning away. A moment of silence fell.

“…Any more questions before you go see Caterpillar?” The Duchness finally asked.

“I assume you can’t outright tell us who Mr. Savage is?” Marco asked. The Duchess gave a bark of laughter.

“I like my entrails where they are right now, thanks. Just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I’m immune from pain. Anything else?” Marco smirked.

“Which way do we go?” The Duchness smiled back lewdly, eyes raking over Marco once.

“Go back out in the hallway and turn right from my door. The tunnel will start to widen. Pops will be waiting for you beyond there.” Marco nodded once and turned away, and Thatch followed suit. Thatch, being closer to the door, made it out first, Marco a good six feet behind. Before Marco reached the door, the Duchness stepped up behind him. “Come back and visit me sometime, oka-“ He/she had raised her hands to place them flush against Marco’s back, but as soon as they made contact, Marco whipped around. A mere moment later he had the Duchness pinned against the wall, hands pressed against the wall on either side, caging him/her in. The Duchness stared up at him with wide eyes, jaw loose, breath tight.

“You- You’re-!” the Duchness stuttered, heart hammering in his/her ears.

Marco smiled slightly, raising one hand to press one finger against his lips in a gesture of silence.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45: (Hey all! Thought a shorter break between chapters was in order as I was on a grand total of 6 hours of plane travel. Again, I apologize for the delay in the last chapter, but this semester of school has been different than expected. And I’ve been having a lack of motivation. BUT here’s the next chapter and I hope you enjoy it!!

**This chapter has been rated T for DRUG USE/REFERENCE, SWEARING, VIOLENCE, and DISTURBING IMAGERY.**

Oh, and I guess a trigger warning for anxiety? I dunno. Read some other fanfictions that put trigger warnings for panic attacks and stuff. So here’s that. 

Oh, and I may or may not have cut my own feels with something that’s revealed in this chapter. We’ll see if you guys pick up on it.

And now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER.)

* * *

 

 

            **You know the rules by now. Are you going to be mature enough to play by them or do I have to keep up this farce?**

Marco felt as if he were suspended in darkness, weightless, blind, immobile.

**Caterpillar’s ahead. And he’ll know if it’s me. So it’s your turn to play. But do you know the rules, Marco?**

_What are you going to do?_ Marco asked, trying to move, to see, _anything_.

**I don’t need to explain myself to you. Now do you want control or not?**

Marco froze for a minute. _…You’re lying._

**But I’m not. I can’t, remember? Queen is the only one who lies down here.**

Marco felt as if a great weight were pressing on his chest, a massive pressure. His bones would have crumpled beneath the force, but he was purely metaphysical, here in his own mind.

**Don’t talk about me. Don’t even consider it. You know I have the power to stop you. And I know you’d like to talk to your family again, Marco. So let’s play nice, hmm?**

_Why are you doing this?!_

**Because. Like it or not, you need me. I’m helping you. You’ll see, one day.** Laughter, dark and low, sent a shudder up Marco’s spine. **…But I doubt I’ll ever convince you of that. You’re lucky my survival instinct outweighs my hatred. But don’t forget, when this is over, Marco, I will kill you.**

* * *

Thatch and Marco stood before a set of double doors. They were ornate, intricate carvings marking the wood with tiny scenes. The hazy, transparent smoke that had covered the area, the whole _city_ , slipped out from beneath the doors, looping gently around them. This more condensed, pure version of what they’d been breathing all along made Marco gently lightheaded, and as he looked over at Thatch he could see his eyes dilate slightly. Marco blinked.

They’d been breathing this stuff all along. Yes it’d been more diluted, but it’d been _hours_. Even a lighter dose for that long…

…How could they tell what was real down here?

_I want you to know,_

_That the smoke billows out the depths of the pipe…_

Here, at the very deepest point in this underground network. The depths of the pipe. They’d been warned, but hadn’t realized it.

…So what would Caterpillar look like now?

He’d designed and built this whole elaborate trap, the whole illusion, and no doubt his own image would be a hallucination. If they needed to fight back, they’d probably end up attacking empty space, the hallucinations guiding them to a fake target. Marco could feel the edges of his thinking going fuzzy.

“Thatch,” he said quietly, fighting desperately to remain focused.

“Hmm?” Thatch said, eyes drooping slightly in relaxation. This was bad. They’d be slower, like this. If Caterpillar…attack…ed…

Marco blinked slowly, hands hanging limply at his sides.

“…I forgot what I was saying, just now.”

_You can come in, you know._ The voice was warm, friendly, and Marco found himself automatically smiling, and looking over found Thatch much the same. _The door’s unlocked. You’re guests after all._

Marco reached forward, turning the handle without a second thought. It swung in on well-oiled hinges, making no sound. A billow of smoke poured out behind it, dissipating into the air of the hallway around Marco and Thatch. Inside, wisps of smoke hung about like pale fog, reducing visibility and seeming to shimmer in the dim, ambiguous light.

Marco and Thatch stepped inside, the door swinging quietly shut behind them.

There was no way of telling how large the chamber was, with the reduced visibility. Instead, they meandered through the smoke like wraiths, no real destination or purpose. The smoke caressed around them, around every sense, feeling like evaporated silk, tasting like starlight and darkness, smelling like forest musk and tobacco smoke, appearing like wisps of incense, and seeming to muffle all sound. It floated lazily, the more intrepid wisps moving upwards seemingly willfully, towards the ceiling or sky, Marco wasn’t sure which.

_This way._ Marco’s head swung lazily toward the source of the voice. _Your father’s already here, but we decided to wait for you two._ Marco wandered toward the welcoming voice, feeling more at ease than he could remember being.

Through the smoke, two figures appeared.

Marco instantly recognized one as Whitebeard. The other was smaller, seated, but probably would have stood a bit shorter than Marco’s eyes. He had golden skin, which marbled between bright amber and pale honey. He had long hair, nearly matching the smoke in color, in an intricate braid that looped from the back of his head over one shoulder and down his bare chest. He wore loose, Persian style pants, and no shoes. The pants were mildly off-white, and he wore a sash of vibrant purple, a jeweled strand of gold tied over it. About his neck were gems to put a sultan to shame, deep rubies, glowing tanzanite, and minutely cut sapphires and emeralds coloring his throat, all set in intricate gold. He sat cross-legged on the floor, a hookah clasped in his top right hand.

He had three arms on each side.

The bottom pair rested on his knees as he sat cross-legged, pointer finger against thumb, fingers extended, a position of meditation. His middle pair of hands held similar postures, but were extended loosely to the sides, perpendicular to his torso, elbows slightly bent. His final pair of arms was raised higher, elbows bent, his left completing the appearance of a Hindu deity by extending loosely upward, palm open and fingers angled towards the sky, the right elegantly clasping the end of the bronze hookah. Bangles and bracelets decorated each arm in still more opulence and wealth, agates, emeralds, and pearls clutched in gold.

_Welcome_ , he said, inclining his head slightly in recognition. Marco felt the absurd obligation to bow.

**_Don’t you dare. I bow to no one._** Marco’s spine stiffened entirely outside of his control. Caterpillar was still smiling quietly, and wordlessly drew the hookah to his mouth, inhaling delicate smoke.

_I’m impressed you made it here, Marco. The Girl with the Eyes was one of Ace’s more petrifying childhood night terrors,_ Caterpillar mentally murmured.

_…You’re responsible for those?_ Caterpillar’s smile tightened, and Marco could feel his bitterness.

_ That’s what Mr. Savage made me into. Nightmares. Twisted flashbacks. Panic attacks. I used to be so much more, so much better. I was a co-creator of Wonderland, once. _

_You were Caterpillar once. What are you now?_

_ You know the answer to that. _

_The Wyrm._ The near statue-like figure nodded silently, drawing more smoke from the hookah. It’s smile lightened.

_…Want to hear something interesting?_ Marco didn’t respond, and the Caterpillar continued a moment later. _Thatch isn’t seeing the same Wyrm you are._ Marco’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion.

_What do you mean?_

_ I don’t entirely create the images you see by myself. Everything you’ve seen previously were imaginings of Ace’s, but now that you’re closer and more under my influence, I can see your impression of things. The image I’ve chosen to show each of you differs from what the others see, based upon what you  _ imagined _I’d look like. It seems you were quite taken with Ace’s drawing of me._

_What do they see?_

_ That’s a secret. _

A moment of silence passed between the two after that. Marco’s train of thought, slowed as it was by the drug, stumbling to this conclusion belatedly.

_The Estrella…?_

_ Oh she’s real. Ace tried to lock her away in a distant, barren corner of his psyche. So in answer to your question no, she is not one of my creations. Nor is the Duchness. My abode is a shelter for those who have no domain of their own. _

Marco’s brows furrowed in gentle confusion. _Domain?_

Caterpillar sighed mentally, his voice going patronizing. _Yes. All of the most powerful, influential members of Wonderland have a domain. One they can’t leave of their own volition or anyone else’s. Dodo. Hatter. Myself. Queen. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum once had the Tulgy Wood, but…you saw what happened to them. There’s two…no, I suppose three exceptions to this rule._ Caterpillar trailed off, taking another breath from his hookah. His eyes never left Marco, but now they quickened with interest. _…Do you want to know more?_

_Yes._ Marco’s answer held no hesitation.

_Let’s play a game then, shall we?_ Caterpillar’s voice was smooth and low.

_What kind of game?_ Some part of Marco warned this was dangerous. But the smoke lifted that thought and carried it gently away until it was no more than a distant murmur.

_Every time you ask a question, I get to ask one too. Honesty for honesty, Marco, I can tell when you lie._ Caterpillar’s voice still retained that deep undercurrent, like a strong tide, and his tone combined with the smoke was nearly overpowering. It was a compulsion, practically, for him to agree. Caterpillar smiled, seemingly sweet, but sharp with cunning. _Please, you go first._

Marco considered his response as carefully as he could, given his current state of disorientation. He needed to be as clearheaded as possible, now. Ask only the important questions, the ones that _need_ answers. Because he was damn sure Caterpillar’s would be deeply revealing, working towards some benefit Marco didn’t understand. _…Which three powerful inhabitants don’t have domains and why?_ Caterpillar’s smile remained as jovial and humoring as a snake’s.

_ The White Rabbit, the Duchness, and the Cheshire Cat. The White Rabbit has free reign because he was Queen’s messenger, in the lighter, friendlier version of Wonderland and because of his role in the current Caucus Race. The Duchness, based on the strength of its role in Ace’s subconscious…and conscious, I suppose…deserves its own domain, but Ace keeps it locked down so tightly, suppresses it so much, that he actually destroyed the domain the Duchness once inhabited. But the Duchness still has quite a bit of pull, and if it tried it could actually entirely influence Ace’s decision-making for a fair amount of time, and the long-term repression only makes the Duchness stronger still. Being that powerful and not being tied to any specific location should make the Duchness one of the most powerful pieces in the current Caucus Race, but because Ace fears it so much and because it will never die, the Duchness has become inconsequential.  _

_ As for Cheshire, if you consider this Caucus Race a chess game, Cheshire is undoubtedly the queen. He is the oldest of all. The first Inhabitant. The rest of us were cultivated as Ace grew older, but Cheshire has been with Ace since the day of his birth. He didn’t assume form or true definition until Hare pushed Ace to his limit, but he was the first to reach out to Ace, to try to communicate. He was the one that finally snapped the cord. By speaking to Ace, he defined himself as separate and Ace’s subconscious latched onto that, instantly forming all of us as separate too. Add onto this how massive his role in the creation of Wonderland…well. The Cheshire Cat is not to be taken lightly. Not to mention because of how he treated Ace during the first Caucus Race, he has great influence over Ace’s decision-making. Not only that, but he can move freely because of what he is. _

_ It isn’t that Cheshire doesn’t have a domain, it’s that his domain is all of Wonderland. _

_ …And the White Rabbit’s the same, now, I suppose. _

Caterpillar fell into somewhat pensive silence, taking another deep inhale from his hookah, exhaling the smoke skyward in a thin stream. _I expect answers of equal truth, Marco._ He returned his gaze to Marco, serpent’s smile returning full force.

_ …What does Thatch fear the most? _

That question gave Marco pause. _…Why do you want to know?_

_ Consider it a precaution. _

Marco’s brows furrowed, and he glanced over to where Thatch stood beside him. Thatch was staring at Caterpillar, his expression placid, non-revealing. Indecision welled in Marco’s chest. He needed to be honest if he wanted to get more information out of Caterpillar. But how would this information negatively impact Thatch, Whitebeard, and himself? He wished he didn’t have all this damn smoke in his head. The answer to that question was obvious, he knew it, but it eluded him. **I’ll help you since you’re being pathetic _._** This voice in his mind was different, somewhat…veiled. Marco got the sense it was somehow removed from what Caterpillar could hear. With the words came a memory. _“Thatch isn’t seeing the same Wyrm you are.”_ Caterpillar’s words echoed in his head, his mind latching onto them dimly. _If Thatch isn’t seeing the same Wyrm…_

_…Perhaps he’s not talking to the same one, either._

And suddenly it made sense. It made sense why Caterpillar never looked away from Marco towards either of his companions. It made sense why he never addressed them.

They were having entirely separate conversations, ones Marco had no way of hearing or influencing.

If he gave this information to Caterpillar, he could use it against Thatch. Somehow. Marco’s brows furrowed at that. It couldn’t do _that_ much damage, though, right? Caterpillar, thus far, hadn’t been aggressive. Maybe he was just taking precautions should he feel threatened?

Telling Caterpillar felt inherently wrong, but there was, undeniably, more Marco needed to know.

_…I’m not certain if it’s true anymore, but Thatch told me once that as a child he was nyctophobic. I saw a little of it when he first joined the crew. He always hated being on night watch, and he collapsed outside my door once on hall patrol. He was gasping like he couldn’t breathe, like he was drowning. That was years ago, though. He couldn’t have been more than 14 at the time._

Caterpillar smiled. _I’ll accept it, despite your brevity. Thank you for your cooperation. All right, your turn._ Marco’s gaze on Caterpillar hardened.

_What is it that the Inhabitants want and how does the existence of Wonderland play into Ace’s behavior?_ Caterpillar arched one delicate eyebrow.

_ Two in one? Less than fair, Marco. But I suppose I’ll answer. _

_ …Let’s go in…chronological order. In case you hadn’t previously deduced this, most people don’t have a Wonderland. The only reason Ace does was to escape his reality to the only place he could flee: his own mind. Well, with just him, he couldn’t have sustained the illusion that his mind was reality for very long, so his subconscious, in order to keep his conscious from recognizing the truth, birthed us, the Inhabitants. By our very existence we pose a rather concerning threat to Ace’s mental health and, given the opportunity, could entirely fundamentally change who he is as a person and how he behaves in day-to-day life. _

_ The healthy person doesn’t have Inhabitants like us. The healthy person doesn’t have Inhabitants at all. The healthy person is, instead, a well-combined mixture of all of the traits we represent. Because they are combined with their opposite, each trait is subdued, mostly canceled out, causing a mild, well-balanced person. But Ace’s subconscious has royally screwed him over by creating each of us the way it did. _

_ Instead of Ace’s mind being a smooth, well-blended, subdued combination, all of his traits were separated from one another, taken away from their opposite and left to stand on their own. Ergo they aren’t being mostly canceled out by their contrary. Ergo they’re much, much more powerful, each trait more highly defined and taken to an almost dangerous extreme. This leads rather directly into what it is we all want. _

_ Wonderland, Ace’s mind, always has and always will need a King. _

_ Ace, by returning down here, has left that throne wide open. _

_ The Ace you know and the Ace you’re searching for is the representation of the mixture I described before. He’s in a constant struggle with us, who all want our part of his mind to be the one in charge, the one calling the shots, the one – the  _ only _one – influencing his decision making. He has to subdue all of us simultaneously in order to maintain tenuous control of his own mind. He’s lucky we don’t work well in teams. I don’t envy him for what he faces every day. Imagine having dozens of voices all talking over each other, all recommending a different course of action than the rest. Except they all sound right because they sound like_ your _voice. He doesn’t have it easy, and he doesn’t always do the right thing._

_In other words, if Ace’s concentration, for whatever reason, slips, especially while he’s conscious, we all jump on it like vultures._ Caterpillar smiled coldly. _You’ve even seen us, though you didn’t know it. When Ace snapped at Jericho? That was Queen. If Ace hadn’t regained his senses in that last moment, Jericho would probably be short an unshattered skull._

_As for why we don’t just take over while Ace is down here, there’s a simple enough answer. The Jabberwocky. It only exists while Ace is down here with us, and its duty is to defend the Location against all but Ace’s entry, as well as prune back anything his subconscious deems unseemly or out of place. It keeps us from becoming too powerful, from too fully separating ourselves and becoming a separate personality. In this way, we are and always will be fully of Ace._ Caterpillar’s eyes attained a kind of near-sadness. _Never forget that, okay?_ He seemed to rouse himself, shaking his head faintly and drawing another inhale from the hookah.

_ But anyways, while he’s conscious his subconscious fades into the background and the Jabberwocky loses its power. So it’s when Ace is awake that we have the best chances of taking over. Specifically in moments of mental weakness on Ace’s part. Any extreme emotion can make him slip; in particular anger or fear, but enough of any feeling will do the trick. _

_I’m lucky you’re so chatty, aren’t I?_ Caterpillar’s cold, distant smile returned.

_You’re lucky I’ve been feeling friendly. Thatch and Whitebeard are playing the same game as you. Do you want to know what I asked them?_ Marco thought of the question he’d been asked previously and knew he didn’t have to inquire. He felt a distant warning in the back of his mind, a sense of unease. Whatever tenuous peace they had with Caterpillar wasn’t going to last. And when it fell apart, all hell would break loose.

_Your turn,_ he thought, cold dread settling in his stomach, taking a little of the fog from his mind. Caterpillar’s smile remained, his eyes searching.

_Do you even know how royally fucked you are?_ Marco froze, mouth going dry.

_…How do you mean?_

Caterpillar’s laughter was bell-like and melodic. It should have been pleasant. Instead, Marco felt his pulse quicken. _Well, in every way, really. You’re not even_ close _to prepared to fight Mr. Savage, you’re going to be stupid enough to fuck with Queen, you don’t even know where Ace is_ or _how you’re going to convince him how to come back to ‘reality’ with you or even_ speak _with you after that_ disaster _with Jozu, and so,_ so _ignorant about what it is you’re bringing_ back. _You act like bringing Ace back will fix anything. It won’t change anything down here. It won’t make him ‘better.’ And Ace coming back down here sincerely fucked things up upstairs too, when he gets back, when you all get back, hell, you’ve got a pretty damn big surprise in store._ Marco felt a bit of a chill shoot down his spine.

_What do you mean?_

Caterpillar gave another bark of laughter. _Well, for one thing, you’ll be mentally jointed with Ace now. Do you know what that means? Let me give you a hint. You get to experience the joys of his anxiety, panic attacks, night terrors, flashbacks…you think it’s going to be pretty? I’d be surprised to see you last a_ week. _Oh, and let’s not even get started on the_ voices. _All of us, all shouting over each other, all fighting to get you to listen, to follow_ our _orders, to ignore all the others. I’m curious to see who you’ll side with the most, Marco. Queen? Hatter?_ Caterpillar smiled harshly. _I think not. I see too much of Cheshire in you. You’ve brushed with your own Cheshire in the past, haven’t you, Marco? Then it won’t be hard for him to twist you around, manipulate you, and when you finally submit he’ll make you do things you have_ nightmares _about, he’ll-_

**You wound me, Caterpillar. Don’t you know me better than this?** Marco felt a foreign grin pull at his face and he saw Caterpillar stiffen. **I’m more ambitious than you give me credit for.**

_…Don’t do anything you’ll regret._ Caterpillar’s voice sounded nervous, almost shaky, and Marco felt his face pull further into that grin.

**Oh come now Caterpillar. You cling to life like maggots to a cod’s carcass. Why not smile? Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s happy these days!** Marco felt his eyes widen, the grin so wide his face nearly ached with it and it frightened him, because the more he wore it, the more it became his own.

**_Tell me, Caterpillar. What do_ you _fear most?_ **

* * *

Thatch practically jumped out of his skin when Caterpillar screamed. The vision he’d been talking to contorted once, then disappeared. For an instant, through the smoke, he saw something else. It was massive, covered in pale skin, writhing as if in agony, and faces, hundreds of faces, crammed side by side, each smiling or sobbing or screaming or singing, hundreds of pairs of eyes staring back at him, unblinking, glassy and dumb as dolls’-

And then it was gone.

Thatch looked around, disoriented and feeling the slight queasiness of the bizarre, sudden shift.

He wasn’t in Caterpillar’s chamber anymore.

And he was entirely alone.

That realization alone set him on edge, his back stiffening slightly. This coupled with the knowledge that he now had no idea where he was and no idea where the others were or if they were unharmed had Thatch’s heartbeat quickening. _Calm down. It’s fine. They’re fine. You’re fine._ He shut his eyes for a moment, repeating the thoughts like a kind of mantra. _You were on your own before down here, and so were they and you were all fine at the end of it. You can do that again and so can they._ Thatch reopened his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath.

He was in a very, very long corridor. Instead of the complete sameness of Hatter’s domain the walls and floors alternated between uneven, roughly carved stone and smooth metal pipe. Throughout the whole corridor the ceiling was high enough for him to stand, the pipe being maybe 11 feet in diameter.

It was moderately, if nonsensically, lit by a single light bulb, which hung from a wire about halfway down the corridor. Illogically, that one light was able to hold the whole hall in fair brightness, though it flickered now and again, as if the wiring were faulty. Thatch couldn’t see the end of the hallway from here, but the light of the light bulb continued to extend to the edge of his seeing. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. _No time like the present._

At first, walking down the hallway, he’d been nervous, on edge. Long corridors always made him feel like something was about to jump out at him. After a while, though, it faded to mere annoyance that he seemed to have gotten nowhere. This whole scenario had the strangeness of a badly crafted dream. Nothing was changing, nothing was happening. It was almost like a space-filler, something to keep him distracted while he waited for something else. Thatch had started out by measuring his progress against the light bulb, but once he approached it to a certain point, it was like he stopped getting nearer to it at all. He was walking, still moving, or at least it seemed like it, but it was like the light bulb was moving with him. Either that or, somehow, he was walking without moving forward.

His annoyance at the lack of change swiftly faded to boredom. He didn’t know where he was exactly, but nothing was happening. Nothing good, nothing bad. The light bulb remained as tantalizingly close-far as ever, as unreachable as the damn stars. He still couldn’t even _see_ the end of the hallway, nor what lay at the end of it. He felt his mind and tension slowly relaxing as time progressed. There was nothing here. Nothing to be afraid _of_ , nothing to be nervous _about_. So why waste the energy?

The light bulb flickered, sputtering and guttering for a bit longer than usual. Thatch glanced at it, brow furrowing. _Don’t you dare go out you son of a bitch._ After another moment, it returned to its former steady brightness and Thatch relaxed again. He sighed, continuing his seemingly pointless march forward, passing into a section of pipe, light bulb still fifteen feet away. Thatch’s guard eventually lowered again, the monotony and lack of event lulling him into a sense of security.

Which is why it came as such a surprise when the light bulb shattered, raining shards of glass on the floor below.

Thatch froze, whole body tensing. The silence which had previously pervaded the hallway remained, but it no longer felt so benign. _Breathe, breathe, breathe…_ Thatch felt his heart speeding up, the familiar sense of the lightheadedness of terror heightening his perception. _You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay._ The darkness was infinite. No distant, second bulb offered a shred of hope. The black, unknown and smothering, was complete, wrapping around Thatch, squeezing around his chest and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe!_

Blind terror began clawing at his heart, crawling up his throat. His heart hammered wildly against his chest and he could hear gasping, choked breaths and recognized them as his own, which only furthered his panic. He couldn’t breathe here. The dark would get inside him, in his lungs, it would crush him it would unmake him, he couldn’t breathe darkness, he was _drowning in it._

Fight or flight began trying to kick in, somewhat belatedly. Only there was nothing to fight. Nowhere to run. It wouldn’t stop Thatch from trying, though, feeling the darkness compress around him like water but _horrible_. His hyperventilation left him feeling dizzy, near fainting, and he couldn’t stay here any longer, the dark was getting him it was in his throat he could feel it in there like some kind of putrid sludge, tasteless poison. He threw out his arms, seeking the edge of the pipe. His left hand collided painfully with the wall, and as soon as he had it as a bearing, he began sprinting down the hallway, keeping his hand on the wall as a guide despite the painful scraping of rough stone against his fingers and palm.

Running didn’t help, though.

With every gasp, every pant, he felt more of it crawling into his mouth, closing up his throat with that condensed slime, that inescapable _oppression._ His legs burned, his heart raced, and the lack of oxygen was beginning to make his mind fade. He was nearly blacking out, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to find something, somewhere. There had to be a light. The darkness _had_ to end.

The other option terrified him too much to consider.

Finally, brain lacking enough oxygen to continue to support him, he collapsed to his knees, skidding a little, scraping his skin away on the stone. He was autonomically gasping in huge lungfuls of air, but this didn’t help him, contrarily it only made him worse. He tried to get up and run but immediately collapsed again, crying out as his weight landed on his hands. He lifted them hesitantly, the fingers of the right carefully exploring the palm and fingers of the left.

He was bleeding.

_No. Nonononononononononononononononononononononononononononnono_ \- Thatch could already feel it, could feel the darkness sliding inside his veins, into his blood, heading for his heart. He felt the tightness in his chest as the darkness tightened around it like a vice. It struggled to beat and he clutched at his chest, gasping, clawing at his own flesh. _GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!_ He threw back his head and _-_

His eyes snapped open and he sat up, gasping, and that wasn’t better, his heart was still being crushed in that black mire. He tried to leap to his feet, mind still too blind with terror to pay attention to where he was or what was happening.

Hands settled on his shoulders, trying to press him back to the ground and Thatch _screamed_ because this was what he knew would happen, this is why he’d tried to run-

“Thatch you’re all right! It’s okay! It was just a dream!” Thatch tried to buck, to struggle, to get away, but the grip was unwavering and his oxygen-deprived muscles were weak in comparison. He was pressed back to lie on the ground and he whimpered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Thatch, listen, look at me, you’re okay! It’s me, Marco!” Thatch shuddered. “ _Look at me!”_ And despite himself, despite the fact that he _knew_ that if he opened his eyes, it wouldn’t be Marco, it would just be that endless nothing, that consuming void, did.

And saw Marco’s concerned, nearly panicked face.

“You need to breathe, Thatch. It’s okay now. You’re okay. Breathe.” Thatch realized his breathing – if it could even be called that – had been reduced to superficial panting, his whole body aching for more air. He took in a great gasp, trying to will his heart to slow it’s frantic hammering.

It was night now, and only a few stars denoted the otherwise black sky, but Marco was holding a lighter, and the tiny flame was a lifeline for Thatch, and he found himself reaching out, wrapping his ands so tightly around the one Marco had holding the lighter he knew it must have hurt him. Marco didn’t complain, though, didn’t even comment. Thatch was gasping desperately, his body trying to make up for all the oxygen it had missed out on.

“You’re all right, son. You’re okay.” Whitebeard’s voice was deep and soothing, and Thatch realized it was he who was holding him down, not Marco. But Thatch could only stand to tear his eyes away from the lighter and the globule of soft illumination it offered for a moment, eyes snapping back from Whitebeard’s face to the small flame.

His breathing was beginning to regulate, but he was still trembling violently, his heart taking longer to cease its frantic pounding. He relaxed back against the ground, closing his eyes for a moment, a final powerful shudder traversing his spine. Whitebeard patted his shoulders once before releasing them, knowing Thatch wouldn’t bolt. Thatch opened his eyes finally, relaxing and releasing his hands from Marco’s and the lighter. He sat up, swiping his right hand over his face. He could feel his heart beginning to unclench.

“I…Sorry, I didn’t-“ Marco’s eyes went wide for a moment, before dropping away from Thatch’s face to the ground.

“No. I…I’m the one who should apologize. When we were speaking with Caterpillar…he and I were trading information back and forth. And when he asked what you were afraid of…I just…I didn’t think he’d actually be able to…” Marco trailed off, eyes still on the ground. “I’m sorry, Thatch.” Thatch blinked. Marco hardly ever apologized for anything. He must have been feeling pretty damn guilty to think an apology was necessary. Thatch’s brows furrowed.

“Wait…did you wake up from a dream like I did?” Marco flinched, then nodded. “…Then I think it’s safe to assume we all have something to apologize for. Caterpillar asked me what Oyaji was afraid of,” he said, a little drily. Marco looked up at that, an expression of sudden comprehension on his face. Thatch snorted. “Since we all essentially gave each other panic attacks, let’s just consider that penance and agree not to do it again, okay?” Marco still looked unsure. Thatch clapped him on the shoulder, looking into his face and forcing Marco to meet his eyes. “It’s okay. Well…not really, but I get it, okay? I made the same mistake. Just…I guess learn from it. And hey, at least you didn’t mention spiders to Caterpillar.” That got an amused chuckle from Marco, even if it was brief.

Thatch blinked, looking around for the first time. They were in a kind of barren plain, and in the distance Thatch could see what he suspected to be the dim city occupying the surface of Caterpillar’s domain. “…Um, so…where are we?” Marco sighed, passing a hand through his hair.

“I think we’re on the very edge of Caterpillar’s domain. From what I understand based on what he told me, the Inhabitants have complete control over everything in their domain. So…when Caterpillar got upset, he put each of us into a hallucination and willed us out here. Is what I’m guessing, anyway. Caterpillar wanted us gone, so we went,” Marco shrugged.

“I think it’s fair to say he put us in the right direction,” Whitebeard said slowly, looking past Marco and Thatch off to the right. Thatch turned to look the direction Whitebeard indicated.

The few stares provided dim illumination, but Thatch could still make out jagged shapes jutting out against the sky like claws, like bones. “…Is that…?” he asked, squinting.

“I think it used to be the rose garden,” Marco said darkly.

The plants were gnarled, twisted, and overgrown now from what Thatch could make out at this distance. Some looked dead, no leaves or blooms protruding from the shrubs. Others tangled themselves so tightly about each other it seemed they were trying to strangle one another. It was clear no one had passed through in a very long time, as Thatch couldn’t even distinguish where the path _used_ to be.

And beyond it, hulking against the sky like a corpse, was the Red Palace.  


* * *

  
(A/N: IT’S 4:50 IN THE MORNING DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS??? It means I’m really really tired. And covered in mosquito bites. I have 27 on my left leg alone. It sucks. I’m about to scratch my fucking SKIN OFF.

Well, anyway, how did you like the chapter? Did you pick up on the thing that hurt my feels and why? It’s okay if you didn’t. It’s probably me just being dumb and making something meaningful that to the average person has no emotional impact at all. But whatevs. It happens.

In other news, one of my New Year’s Resolutions was to do a better job of updating this story at a more acceptable pace. I promise you I will do my absolute best, but as always I’m not going to commit to a specific schedule because I KNOW I won’t be able to keep up with something like that.

Well, I’m going to go sleep now. Yay. Oh, by the way, did I mention I’m mildly nyctophobic and had to write this part with Thatch at 3 in the morning? So yeah. I kind of effectively freaked myself out there. I don’t think many of you guys will find this chapter all that scary and, to be honest, not that much actually happens (*hides*), but the next chapter will be more exciting, I promise. So anyways, hope you enjoyed, and I’ll see you all next time! ~Mountain97)


	46. Chapter 46

(Chapter 46: I'm a lazy fucker with no time who was up until 4 in the morning. So this is the extent of the author's notes.

 **Review replies:**  Pending. I'm fuck out of time right now, but I'll get to them when I can.

This chapter has been rated  **T+**  for  **SWEARING, VIOLENCE,**  and  **DISTURBING IMAGERY.**

Hope you like it! And there's something kind of sort of important in the bottom Author's Notes, so I'd appreciate it if you took the time to read it! Thanks. c:

And now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER.)

* * *

Fuck the Red Palace was quiet.

As they walked, the silence weighed on Thatch like a shroud. They'd clambered and ducked through the tangled mess that the Rose Gardens had become, had come upon the great, leering, oppressive façade of the front of the caste, had pushed their way through the heavy, dense wood doors.

In retrospect, Thatch realized he should have been expecting what he saw on the other side.

The palace looked as immaculate as a tomb, the bone white marble of the floors and walls offset by gilt frames on vast, imposing paintings, heavy crimson drapery lining windows and alcoves. It was provocative contrast, the whole place feeling noble and regal, authoritative and commanding respect. It was immaculately clean, not a mote of dust to be found in the air or on any surface. The light of the rising sun shafted pale gold through the windowpanes, setting the gilt ornamentation alight. But the sun was rising faster, had already risen to an angle Thatch would associate with about ten in the morning in the real world.

Time had changed, somehow. Thatch couldn't say how he knew but he did. The ratio of time between Wonderland and up above had shifted.

Why Ace was changing it Thatch had no clue.

The chamber they had immediately found upon entering the Red Palace was everything that could be expected from the entrance hall of a castle. The marble floor practically shone it was so polished, the crystal and gold chandelier hanging currently lightless, but glowing in the morning light from the enormous, gothic style window above the main door. Side halls branched off to either side at the other end of the chamber, maybe fifty feet away. Directly across from them was another set of grand doors, though not quite as elaborate as those on the frontal façade.

Thatch figured straight ahead was their best bet.

As they crossed the entrance hall, their footsteps echoed alarmingly loud. Thatch didn't want to attract attention, wanted to avoid doing so in any way humanly possible, and yet with every step they took the whole chamber seemed to nearly ring. It might have just been paranoia heightening the amount of sound, but even so. To disturb this place at all felt dangerous. Whitebeard walked in front, eyes traveling the room warily, Thatch slightly behind him and to the left, Marco on the right. By mutual silent consensus they didn't speak, settling for trepid quiet.

As they passed a large painting on Thatch's left, he felt his eyes drawn to it. It seemed…familiar. He knew he'd seen it somewhere before. His brows furrowed slightly in contemplation.

The painting portrayed an island in the full throes of fall. The whole island wasn't visible, but the point of reference was wide enough that it took in the majority of what lay upon it, with particular focus upon the marine base at the island's peak. In the painting, the base stood gaunt and silhouetted against the sky, nearly nothing more than a black hulking mass against the brightness of the blue and sun behind it. It looked more like a photograph than a painting, to be entirely honest.

"Hey," Thatch murmured, only loud enough for him to be just heard by Marco and Whitebeard. Their attention instantly snapped to him, Marco even tensing slightly in surprise. Thatch's gaze didn't shift from the painting, his face still bent lightly in consternation. He nodded at the painting, directing their attention towards it. "Why do I recognize this?" He felt Whitebeard draw up beside him, his eyes sweeping over the painting as well.

Marco, as opposed to staring long at the painting, approached it. He had seen the small plaque embedded in the base of the frame. As he drew nearer, he could see three lines of words engraved in an elegant, simple hand on the brass material of the plaque, and he read aloud. "October 17th. Oliver Ryan Thompson. Verdict: Guilty…" his voice trailed off on the third line, deep thought lacing his tone. His eyes roved over the painting, looking more in depth this time. That name was familiar. He searched his memory for any time he'd heard or read the name 'Thompson' in the last 10 years. And October 17th… He stared at the painting with intensity, trying to piece it together.

_Thompson._

_Thompson._

_Thompson._

" _I think it was somewhere between Thompson and White."_

Marco's eyes snapped wide and he almost fell over where he stood. Thompson. Hare had said his name. Had named him as one of the men that raped Ace. Marco could still almost hear the cruel leer in Hare's voice. Another memory, this one from two years ago, pressed into his conscious.

_October 17_ _th_

_UNKNOWN ATTACKER INFILTRATES MARINE BASE. PIRATES OR REVOLUTIONARIES? GOVERNMENT LEFT CLUELESS._

_It was only in the early hours of this morning that the government became aware of the situation at the Marine base on the island of Greyre, a fall island near the beginning of the Grand Line. Central headquarters received a Den Den Mushi transmission from one Rear Admiral Oliver Thompson, the commanding officer of the base. The government hasn't disclosed what exactly was said, only that it was not the Rear Admiral speaking. Investigators from a nearby base, dispatched by central headquarters upon this strange occurrence, found a grisly scene when they arrived twelve hours later. The Rear Admiral had been brutally murdered-_

The news article was ripped harshly from Marco's mind, shut back in dim recesses and held there.  **That's quite enough of that, thank you.**  But Marco had remembered enough.

The painting was the photograph that had appeared on the front page of the newspaper, under that headline. It had been in black and white in the daily news.

Marco could only stare at the full color, real image of it, face slack, eyes wide. He scrabbled desperately to recall the news article, to remember the rest of it, but it was held back from him.  **I** _ **said**_ **that's enough, Marco.**

 _What did Ace do?!_  Marco asked desperately. He turned to Whitebeard and Thatch. One of them would remember the article, surely? Thatch had already recognized the picture-

" **Tattle-tale, tattle-tale**

**All the birdies heard you wail**

**Did you think I wouldn't see**

**While I was busy taking tea?"**

No. He had to do this. They had to know and this was an opportunity. They could  _see._  He opened his mouth to speak-

" **TATTLE-TALE, TATTLE-TALE**

**NOW HANGS FROM THE GALLOWS' RAIL.**

**RUMORS BREED LIKE HARES YOU KNOW,**

_**Shut them up before they grow** _ **."**

**But who says it's you I'll have to hang, Marco?** Marco felt himself go very cold.  **I don't want to have to take control again, Marco. So let's be discreet, shall we?**  Outside of his own control, Marco felt his body straighten and turn away from the painting, back towards the others.  **Say something. Brush it off. Lie for me.**  Marco tried to fight back, tried to reclaim control. He could feel the amused patronization of the other at his efforts.  **Awww, the little Phoenix thinks he can fight back. Too bad he's been a puppet for his whole life and doesn't even know what it means to exist outside the will of another.**  Marco tried desperately to give one final push, one surge of strength, to somehow expel the voice from his mind.

And a force so strong it knocked the air from his lungs cinched down upon his conscious like a vice.

 **I'm tired of this game, Marco.**  The voice was no longer light and amused, merely dark.  **We can go around this bush as many times as you like. You'll never win.**  The force in his mind tightened until he felt himself beginning to black out, until he could barely even process a single thought. His body was still breathing, but Marco felt as if he were suffocating. His thought process was crushed to the barest excuse for thinking, could do no more than scream single-word ideas like  _death_  and  _dying_  and  _stop_  and  _hurts._

He was weak.

Compared to this, compared to this single, focused force, he couldn't fight back. Couldn't even begin to.

 **Lie. To. Them. For. Me. If you can't, I'll have to change the game again. I only need** _ **one**_ **of you to save Ace. And you're a good obedient puppet. So unless you want to see your companions' guts, DO IT.**  And all at once, as if he'd shoved Marco away, the force was gone from his mind. Marco was himself again. He took a deep breath, blinking repeatedly several times.

"What about you, Marco? Do you know what this painting is?" Thatch and Whitebeard had apparently been in discussion about the image but had yet to realize its significance. Marco blinked once at him, then forced his face back into its usual expression of detachment, eyes half-lidded, mouth relaxed.

"…It doesn't seem familiar to me, no," he said, keeping his voice from being too inflective. "The name sounds familiar, but I don't know the location."  _It's mostly true,_ Marco tried to reason with himself. He'd promised he'd never lie to Whitebeard. He'd  _promised._  But this was undoubtedly a special case. Thatch crossed his arms, still staring intently at the painting.

"I  _swear_  I've seen this before. And I've heard that name, too."  **Marco. Get them away.**  Marco hated having to just listen, but the threat on his family still stood and it concerned him more than dishonesty.

"If you can't remember it can't be that important. We should move on, I don't want to stay too long in one place. We still don't know where Queen is, and that'd be a pretty nasty surprise." Marco began walking away, towards the door at the end of the room. Whitebeard considered it for a moment, then nodded, following suit. Thatch lingered a bit more, eyes sweeping over the painting once more in confusion, then turned away.

"…All right, if you say so." He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder again.

* * *

As it turned out, the whole castle was chock full of paintings. They were currently walking down a short, broad hallway, and every flat surface that wasn't a window sported some kind of painting. Thatch found himself becoming more and more curious about them. Some were vaguely familiar to him, others entirely foreign.

He only stopped when he saw one he undoubtedly recognized.

His eyes searched the painting confusedly. It was a battlefield. One of the first times Ace had fought as a Whitebeard pirate. In the image, the chaos was already over. Instead, the corpses of the contestants littered the field. Thatch remembered it had been a battle against a group of particularly fierce bandits that had begun terrorizing the population on one of the islands under Whitebeard's protection. Since it was something that important, Thatch and a good portion of his division had been dispatched, Whitebeard sending Ace too as a chance to learn how they handled things like this. Thatch's eyes darted to the plaque at the bottom.

_January 8_ _th_

_Battle of Rensaire_

_Verdict: Guilty_

What was up with the plaques? The 'verdict'? Thatch's eyes traveled to another painting, this one even more familiar, so much so his eyes widened in surprise.

It was Marco and himself in the crow's nest, as if drawn from Ace's perspective. The day Ace had told them the 'truth' about his past. Seeing the memories had of course debunked what Ace had said that day, but at the time Thatch had pretty much believed it…until he'd heard what Serpent said moments after their leaving.

_December 23_ _rd_

_Lying to Friends_

_Verdict: Guilty_

Thatch's face furrowed, understanding beginning to grow. His eyes traveled to the next painting, this one of a dead marine, a hand extending into the frame as if it were a first person perspective, holding a locket, a picture of the man and a beautiful women holding a baby clasped in the painted gold.

_February 13_ _th_

_Loving Husband and Father…_

_Verdict: Guilty_

Thatch's face went slack in understanding. "They're all crimes," he nearly whispered. Whitebeard didn't seem to have heard but Marco's eyes instantly snapped to him. "All of them. Things Ace has done." Thatch was trying to put it all in place, trying to figure out what this meant, what this said about Queen, what this told them about what they were dealing with. His finger traced lightly over the last word on the plaque, the one on  _every_  plaque. "…But what does this have to do with Queen? Isn't Queen the force that allows Ace to do these things? So why… _guilty?"_  He had Whitebeard's attention by now.

"…It might have something to do with whatever Queen has become," Whitebeard said. "I'm not pretending to actually know. But Hatter said Queen had a different kind of death than all the others, and maybe this is a byproduct."

"But I thought Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were Ace's conscience?" Thatch asked. Whitebeard shook his head.

"As I said, I don't know. At this point I'm just hoping to pass through unhindered and get Ace back without ever encountering Queen. We've spent enough time as it is down here, and I'm certain they need us back in reality as soon as possible."

"I think I might have the answer," Marco said quietly, approaching a picture. His fingers reached out and delicately traced the engraved letters. "…It's not really a matter of conscience in this case. Conscience is what helps you make a decision in the instant of deciding. This is something that only happens…after. I think…" Marco finished tracing the letters and looked up at the painting itself, this one of an island he didn't recognize.

"…I think it's self-loathing," he finished. Thatch stared at him, dumbstruck.

"…Self-loathing?" he repeated a little breathlessly. Marco nodded.

"Everything he's ever done, or things he didn't do… Everything that didn't turn out the way he thought it would… He blames himself for them. Thinks of them as his fault specifically. And he hates himself for being responsible, even if he's really not…" Marco's gaze had shifted to another painting, this one again from a first person perspective, hands stretched out in front of him, pinned to a familiar wooden floor by a scalpel.

_Exact date unknown_

_Lust_

_Verdict: Guilty_

"…But this isn't something we can fix from down here. So we should keep moving," he concluded, closing his eyes for a moment. He swallowed thickly, taking a moment to recollect his thoughts.  **I'm impressed you still pity us.**

_I pity_ him _. Not you._

The voice only laughed.

"No more distractions, then. I am honestly seriously concerned for what's been happening on the Moby Dick, so I'd appreciate it if we'd really do our best to  _hurry up,"_  Whitebeard said. And with that, he pressed open the door to the next room.

The throne room.

And all three of them froze simultaneously.

The ceiling of this room rose higher than any previously, and as such the sunlight was able to make it through the crimson glass of the rose window above the door. It stained part of the marble floor, a little off center towards the left, deep red, part of it overlapping the red of the long carpet that led from the door to the slightly raised dais the throne rested on.

The walls rose high, denoted with no windows, the sole exception being the one above the door. The walls, about a third of the way up, slanted back into sort of steps, lines of seats across the walls, staggered and spaced almost like a theater. After a while, the walls resumed their vertical climb, leaving this strange kind of balcony seating. As if some kind of spectator sport took place here. The seats were all empty, however. Altogether there were maybe 200 across both walls.

In the center aisle, three fourths of the way to the throne, was a headsman's block.

It was simple enough, made out of some kind of smooth, polished, dark grey stone. No axe or other method of beheading rested nearby, but from the depth of the chips in the stone, whatever weapon accompanied this grisly thing, it was heavy. Or wielded with a monstrous amount of force. And to have that kind of speed even after passing through a neck…

The user would have to be quite talented with the weapon.

Thatch felt a little queasy, seeing the array of the room.  _Public executions. Like it's entertainment._

The throne was large, high-backed, and by far the most ornate thing in the room. The cushions were of red velvet, the frame looking made of solid gold. It was intricately formed, gothic flora patterns twining vines and leaves over the legs and arms, mythical creatures like griffins, chimera, and manticore leering out of molded gold.

It was empty.

None of this was what had caused the three pirates to freeze, however.

No, it had far more to do with the corpses littering the floor, the blood spattered and smeared across the white marble floors and walls. Each figure was dressed as the Royal Court from the original Wonderland had been, the women in their beautiful ball gowns, the men in tailcoats and tuxedos, class and wealth denoted in every piece of fabric and jewelry.

All were strewn across the floor, heinously murdered.

Some were in the center of the floor, but more seemed to have tried to flee their attacker, slumped against walls or behind the throne. The man nearest Thatch had lost his whole right arm, chopped off cleanly as if with a very powerful weapon. The next blow he'd received had landed straight up and down his back, parallel to his spine, so forceful the blade had protruded from the other side of his chest, as evidenced by the smear of blood trailing behind him from where he'd skidded face down on the tile. A single word was written on the floor beside him in rough letters, his blood used like finger paint.  _GUILTY._

The next was a woman in a formerly sea green dress. Everything above her lower jaw was missing. As in, Thatch couldn't even see it anywhere in the room. Beside her prone form as well, now partially concealed in the pool of blood that had expanded from her destroyed head, was the same word.  _GUILTY._

Another woman slumped against a wall to Thatch's left, the bloody smear above her evidencing her attempt to scrabble up or somehow through the wall, her hands red with blood from trying to stop the bleeding from a slice across her throat that would have taken a painful amount of time to kill her. Written on her forehead as if drawn with a single finger, one word.  _GUILTY._

All across the room similarly brutal death reigned. Dismemberment, decapitation, disemboweling. It was like someone had just gone  _nuts_. And  _all of these people_  hadn't been enough to stop it. There wasn't much evidence that they'd tried and they weren't armed, but even so.

Had it been one attacker? Or some kind of group?

_GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY_

It was smeared near or on each and every corpse, varying in size but always the same handwriting. Blood pooled near each in their varying stages of destruction, so the writer hadn't wanted for 'ink.'

"Who…?" Thatch breathed.

"Do you really have to ask?" Whitebeard said, voice and gaze hard as he scanned the bodies. No one stepped forward to check for survivors. They knew there wouldn't be any.

"Queen," Thatch murmured. He swallowed. "…You know, I think you might have been onto something with that whole 'avoid him at all costs' thing…"

_(Ah. Guests. My favorite. Please, right this way. I've been_ dying _to meet you.)_

Thatch raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking around anxiously. "…Anyone else feel like we're being watched…?" he asked, voice intentionally low.

"We should keep moving," Marco murmured, voice equally soft, posture equally wary. "…I don't think it's safe to linger too long."

The throne room seemed to possess only one door, the one they came in by. It had swung silently shut behind them upon their entry, even the click of the catch somehow inaudible. Perhaps it had been the shock of the scene that had led Thatch to miss it. In the silence, he would have thought it would sound like a gunshot, but no. He reached out, seizing the handle. It was cold.

He pushed it open-  _Didn't Oyaji push it to go into the throne room?_ –the creak seeming foreign and unfamiliar.

Stairs led down.

"The fuck?" Thatch asked, tilting his head slightly.

_(My domain. My rules.)_

Thatch's gaze, unsure, shifted to Whitebeard, seeking guidance. Whitebeard's mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes hard as he gazed down the stairwell.

"…It's our only option," he said. Thatch gave a determined nod, turning back towards the stairwell. He stepped forward cautiously, the sound seeming bizarrely dead for all the walls were pure white marble now, not a tapestry, painting, or curtain in sight.

The feeling of being watched was getting stronger.

Thatch felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms rising, his chest instinctively tightening.  _Fight or flight. You need assess the situation and decide if you're prey or predator_. But…as far as he could see, there was nothing to flee or fight. He couldn't make a call on a nonexistent threat. His eyes darted over every surface of the staircase, the floor, the bare walls, the wide, barely arched ceiling. Nothing but pale stone glared back. Every instinct told him something was coming. His fingers itched for the familiar texture of his sword hilts, and for the first time since entering Wonderland he was  _painfully_  aware of being weaponless.

The bottom of the stairs was approaching. Thatch's hyper-aware state had made it seem endless, but in reality it couldn't have been more than 30 stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, the corridor abruptly widened, but the walls, floors, and ceiling remained as austere as before. Except for one thing.

The walls were lined with doors.

Heavy, steel, lockable doors.

They had a single, horizontal slot a bit below eye level, wide enough for small objects to be passed through. The lock wasn't so much a lock as it was a bar, a thick steel rod resting in a cradle, from which it could be shoved into the waiting slot in the doorframe. The steel was black, almost like-

"…Is that-" Thatch started.

"Ace's armament Haki? I think so," Whitebeard finished. Thatch supposed it made sense. This place was a representation of Ace's mind. Of course his Haki could be implemented in it. These doors meant business, then. As if 2-inch thick steel wasn't enough, with Haki tacked on too, that stuff would be damn near unbreakable. Most of the doors stood open, swinging into the rooms beyond.

…Well. The word 'room' might have been a bit generous.

They were cells.

If Thatch had to guess at the dimensions, he'd say they were 6' by 10', the wider side parallel to the hall. White walls and floors. No ornamentation or furniture. It wasn't dank like a lot of the prisons Thatch had seen in his time, but by sheer force of emptiness was crushingly oppressive.

"H-Hello…?" Thatch, Whitebeard, and Marco froze at the breathy voice. "Who's there…?" it asked quietly, sounding anxious.

Thatch knew that voice anywhere, his attention instantly honing in on the source.

The closed door.

"Thatch? Whitebeard?" There was a slight pause. "Oh God please let that actually be you." He didn't just sound anxious.

He sounded terrified.

"Ace?!" Thatch felt as if he crossed the passage in an instant, drawing up right before the closed door, Whitebeard and Marco by his side.

"Son can you hear me?" Whitebeard asked, worry plain in every syllable. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Ace's 10-year-old face was pressed near the slot, his left eye staring up at them wide, his skin pale, freckles standing out in near harsh contrast. He had to have been on tiptoe to reach the slot. Whitebeard crouched so he could see better. Upon seeing his face, Ace's eyes closed and he sighed audibly with relief.

"Oh thank God. For a second I thought you were…" Ace trailed off, leaning his forehead against the door with an audible thump. Whitebeard's gaze darkened.

"Who? Queen? Is he the one that locked you up? Did he hurt you?" Ace shook his head, eyes reopening.

"No, not Queen. It was-" he cut off, swallowing thickly, fear rekindling in his eyes. "…Mr. Savage," he whispered. He became tense and frightened all over again, staring up at Whitebeard desperately. "Please, I don't know when he'll be back. You have to get me out of here!  _Please!"_

"Hey, it's okay, you're going to be all right. No need to panic. Just breathe, okay?" Thatch tried to make his voice as soothing and friendly as possible. Ace's petrified gaze shifted to him.

"No you don't  _understand_  if he comes back he'll-" Ace cut off, shuddering, eyes squeezing shut.  _"Please!"_  he begged, voice no more than a whisper. "There's no time! I-" All expression dropped from Ace's face, and if possible he went even paler. "Oh God," he murmured. "Oh  _God._ " His gaze darted between Thatch and Whitebeard, visible eye even wider than before. He started to shake gently.  _"I can hear him coming down the stairs,"_  he whispered, mind-crushing terror plain in every word.

Well that was enough for Whitebeard. Seeing the terror on Ace's face, he didn't hesitate to seize the handle of the Haki-enforced bar and, in a burst of strength, haul it aside. He couldn't hear whatever Ace said he heard, but that terror was all he needed to see before he couldn't resist action any longer. None of his children should ever have to endure something like that.

Silence reigned.

Then Ace started to laugh. It was quiet, no more than a chuckle really. "You are so fucking stupid, you know that?" Whitebeard's eyes widened and he reached again for the handle of the bar, but it was too late.

With one resounding strike, the door was blown off its hinges, striking Whitebeard squarely and carrying him with it to collide into the opposite wall.

"Oyaji!" Marco shouted, staring after his father.

"Ah ah ah. Might want to pay attention to other things just now." It was by a mere hair's breadth that Marco was able to dodge the blow, the axe colliding hard enough with the marble to crack it. He instantly backed off, putting far more distance between himself and the emerging figure. Marco's eyes hardened in recognition.

"…You were the one that appeared to Shanks in the memories. The one in the mirror." Queen grinned and cocked his head, the movement jostling some sickly black sludge from his right eye socket.

"Nice memory you got there. But I wonder how many fucking times it would take of  _everyone_  saying I'm the only one down here who can lie before you'd remember that. Daddy's probably hurt now, oops. Those doors can be  _so heavy_ , you know. I do hope his spine's not broken!" Queen began laughing, throwing his head back, hair falling away from his face.

"Marco, keep him busy I'm going to check on Pops!" Thatch ordered, Marco's eyes never once leaving Queen as he nodded assent.

"Try to make it quick I don't want to fight him alone," Marco said calmly. After that first near-deadly attack Marco knew that on his own he wouldn't be able to defeat Queen. Hold him off maybe, but not actually win against. "Queen listen. We have no quarrel with you. Can't you just-"

"Sorry, Queen's not here right now, I can be sure to deliver a message, if you'd like." Queen's face only grinned all the wider, the long black worms wriggling in his eye socket. He hefted the long, deadly headsman's axe, leaning it against one shoulder as if it weighed no more than a twig. "Well then. It seems your sin isn't hubris. So tell me, Marco, what are  _you_  guilty of?" Marco was given no time to answer as Queen lashed forward again, swinging the pole arm with one hand effortlessly, using its length to his advantage. Marco ducked under the blow, but in an instant Queen was there. Marco's eyes widened and he dropped further still, slamming his head back as far as it would go to dodge the grab Queen made for his face.

Someone who could throw a steel door across a hallway could undoubtedly crush his skull.

As he dropped to nearly laying down, Marco went offensive for the first time, trying to deliver a sweeping kick that would knock Queen off his feet. He swung his full bodyweight onto his hands, shifting his legs in an arc to build up the momentum necessary to make the blow more damaging-

And instead of meeting with Queen's wide-open, defenseless right leg, he found his ankle trapped in a grip like steel, Queen staring at him through one hugely widened eye. Queen's mouth was totally flat, devoid of any emotion at all. His grip on Marco's ankle tightened and he fought not to cry out, feeling the bones nearly grinding together. Queen was bent, his face even with Marco's.

"Uh oh," he said, voice dead. "Seems like you aren't too good at protecting the people you care about." Queen's grip tightened further still, eliciting a pained gasp from Marco.

And then flung him against a wall about 20 feet away hard enough that he tasted blood.

 _Fuck shit shit shit I really hope I didn't break a rib and pierce my lung…_  Marco fought, clinging to spinning consciousness with all the strength he had. His  _everything_  hurt. His whole back felt like it had been repeatedly beaten with hammers, his spine nothing more than one column of pain down his back. His head throbbed, his vision pulsing.  _Come on pull it together you need to be back on your feet by the time Queen gets over he-_

Oh shit. Queen wasn't coming over here.

He was heading for Thatch.

Marco's eyes widened and he struggled to rise to his feet to make a move,  _anything_. But his body, stunned and abused as it was, denied him. He tried to shout warning, but his voice emerged as little more than a croak.

"Thatch!" he mustered all the volume he could, his chest shooting with pain at the effort. "Look out!"

"Aw, that's cute, trying to warn him. I wonder if he'd do the same for you?" Thatch stiffened, turning to face Queen, eyes wide. "Never thought they'd know, did you? Why not have story time, then,  _hmmmmmmm?_ "

He darted down the corridor towards them, faster than blinking, aiming for Thatch. He grabbed him and, with more force than the chest-high figure should logically have, slammed him into the wall. Thatch, the breath having been knocked out of his lungs, gasped, stunned. Queen smiled up at him.

"You clever, clever bastard. Your sin is eloquence. When you stole from those nobles, they could truly do without and your family needed. Necessity saves you from that. But when the marines kicked down your family's door, did you confess? No. Your life was more important.  _So you watched your brother hang for your crime._ " Queen laughed.

"You try to spare yourself guilt any way you can. You claim it was a spur-of-the moment decision, that you'd change everything if you could go back, but then, why would you hide the gold in his room, if you didn't plan to throw him to the wolves if things got bad? The guards asked questions, and all it took was some fake tears, a quivering lip, and an invented story about your brother's drug addiction, how he needed to pay off big bills, how he said he was gonna get the money soon. And then you watched him swing. Fancy rope necklace he got, for a crime he didn't even know happened." Queen leered at him, smile turning almost to a snarl.

"You traitorous dog, you never even wept for him, did you? You went to his execution and you  _watched._  Stood there, silent, guilty, alive. Tell me, did you feel even a  _twinge_  of guilt, the most instantaneous  _pang_  of regret when you saw him up there, weeping, pleading,  _begging_  to see your mother one more time? No. You didn't. And then he dropped. But there was no painless snap, no quick death for him. He dangled like a hooked fish, writhing for…what? Seven minutes? Less? And when he was in his last moment what did he do?" A cruel smile came to Queen's face. "He looked over and he saw you. His little brother. No older than twelve. By that point, he was only adrenaline and survival instinct and he  _begged_  you with his eyes, he  _begged_  you to save him. You had enough money for a ship. For a clean getaway. But what did you do?  _Nothing._ " All expression dropped from Queen's face.

"I find you  _quite_  guilty, Thatch."

Queen, in one fluid movement, slammed his open palm against Thatch's chest. The blow wasn't hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and it did no physical damage. But then Queen released him and when he stumbled forward to catch himself…

…he wasn't in the Palace anymore.

Thatch's head instantly snapped up when his foot landed not on stone, but dirt. Instead of the dark corridor, his eyes were met with blue skies, tall grass, and the humble houses of his hometown. It was dead silent, and the whole place had a strange saturation to it, almost sepia. But it was so subtle it could barely be distinguished, merely gave the scene an inherent…wrongness. Thatch recognized this place. This specific location. His stomach felt like it was made of lead. He turned slowly, eyes coming to meet what he knew would be there.

The gallows.

It was on the very outskirts of the town, an ancient, dead tree behind it. The leafless, black branches of that tree stood against the sky like bones. The gallows itself was a fairly old construction, the wood dark with exposure to the elements. Thatch took a shuddering breath, feeling his heart chugging in his ears.

The body of a boy, no more than a  _child_ , swung grimly from the rope.

Thatch swallowed thickly, feeling his chest tighten.  _It can't be. You can't be. You're buried in the cemetery behind the little black church._  He felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if there were some crushing weight, the whole ocean, upon his shoulders.

Something drew him, and he approached the gallows.

It wasn't a conscious decision, it more just…happened. One moment he was standing, staring, the next he was approaching. It was almost dreamlike in its simplicity and suddenness. Thatch, mind swimming with dread, found himself climbing the steps. They seemed far more than he remembered, closer to 30 as opposed to the mere 10 of his memory. When he reached the top, the strange compulsion left him, and he stood there, motionless, breathless.

The corpse, still hanging from the rope, turned to face him slowly.

Thatch couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't move. He remained bound in place as the body raised its dull, lifeless eyes to him. Cloudy. Empty. Dead.

"Come here, otouto. I've been so terribly lonely since you abandoned me." Thatch could feel himself beginning to go dizzy from the lack of oxygen and took a great, gasping breath, filling his lungs with the acrid stench of death and the much, much more familiar,  _too_  familiar scent.

Potato soup and flowering grass.

Brother.

It was a scent Thatch hadn't encountered in years, yet it was as familiar to him as his reflection. Thatch choked on the air, feeling raw, unhealed grief.

And guilt. Guilt beyond imagining.

"Come here." He hadn't aged at all. Still the same tousled tawny hair, the same sharp nose and strong jaw. He looked exactly as he had on the day Thatch had seen him die. A boy. Sixteen years old, and hanging. Thatch approached him, an emotional torrent but mental void. He couldn't think. He drew up next to the corpse, which continued to lifelessly regard him from its position.

"Thatch…can you tell me something?" The voice was hoarse, as if the throat had suffered a great deal of damage. Indeed it had, and as it still hung by the neck it was a wonder it could talk at all. Thatch made no response and it continued. "…Why did I deserve to die?" Thatch swallowed, feeling his chest constrict again.

"You didn't."

"Then why am I dead?" Thatch felt tears welling in his eyes, felt like his heart had stopped beating. He wanted it to. He didn't deserve to be alive.

"Because I'm a bad brother." Bad brother? He was a bad  _human_.

"…Don't you want to come home? You left me here alone, and it's cold in the ground." Thatch fell to his knees, sobbing, guilt and regret and grief tightening his chest. "…You know, I wanted to get married some day. To Lizzy Ryan. But I don't think she'll say yes. She threw rocks at me while I was hanging." Thatch wept, tears streaming down his face. "I gave you everything, otouto. The only thing I kept my own was my life, but you've taken that now too. I had a future. I had everything. But now I'm alone…" Thatch stumbled to his feet, tears blurring his vision.

"I'm sorry." He choked between sobs. "It's my fault."

"Those guards wouldn't believe a word I said after your testimony. You always had the quicker wit. The sharper tongue." Thatch stumbled across the wooden planking of the gallows, approaching his brother.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

"Then tell the truth you failed to tell then."

"Who are you?" This voice was different, authoritative. Familiar, but with an unfamiliar rage to it. Thatch fought to speak through his tears.

"Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates Marcus James Thatch." He nearly choked on his own sobbing, but continued speaking regardless.

"What is your crime?"

"The murder of my older brother through treachery." The last word felt like a knife to his heart, reopening wounds from long ago.

"Do you confess?"

"Yes. Oh  _God_ , yes." Thatch fell once more to his knees, leaning forward, extending his neck, resting his chin on the cool, dark grey stone. He didn't know when it had appeared but it hardly mattered. He could still see his brother hanging a scant few feet away. "I did it.  _I did it._  I killed my brother." This was it. This was right. This was the punishment he deserved for the crimes he committed.

"I find you irrevocably responsible for the premeditated murder of your brother, as confessed before me, judge, jury, and law. You. Are. Guilty." Yes.  _Yes._

" _Off with your head_."

Queen had the axe raised above high in preparation for the blow. His eye was cold, fierce, and angry. His grip tightened and he began to bring the axe down-

Marco tackled him, arms wrapping around his tiny waist, carrying them both to the floor. Queen screeched in frustration, sliding along the marble with Marco's momentum. The polished marble floor left them with little to no friction, and they slid until they collided with one of the corpses littering the floor.

Marco grappled fiercely with Queen, trying to tear the axe from his grip. He was kneeling, the majority of his body weight keeping Queen pinned to the floor, pulling with everything he had to try to get the axe away. Queen shrieked a battle cry, slamming up with his left hand and driving the handle of the axe into the side of Marco's head. Marco grunted, instantaneously stunned, and Queen continued pushing until he flipped their positions, himself straddling Marco's chest, now fighting to push the axe to Marco's throat.

Marco pushed back with all his might, face a grimace of effort, but the axe handle steadily grew closer to his throat. It finally met skin, but the pressure continued until breathing became a struggle. Queen leaned down, face inches from Marco.

"You," he whispered, sludge dripping from the infested eye socket. The worms poked out curiously, reaching out as if to brush against Marco's face. "Where do I even  _start_  with you." Marco could do no more than make choked noises, fighting for air. He didn't know if Thatch was up out of whatever Queen had done to him. He couldn't count on Thatch to necessarily come to the rescue. He needed to find a way out on his own. But Queen's strength was unyielding, and the pressure on his neck was growing even stronger. "All that wrath, Marco. Tsk." One of the worms brushed against his cheek and he felt an involuntary shudder run down the length of his spine. "And that's not even the worst, is it?" He was losing strength in his arms from lack of oxygen. This was going from bad to worse really, really fast. Queen smiled at him, Ace's youthful, freckled face bending into something that should have looked friendly. "Your real sin, I thi-" All at once, he leapt back, releasing Marco, landing in a crouch on the floor.

"Thatch, what do you think you're doing?!" Queen screeched.

Tears still stained Thatch's face, but he was up and moving. His breath, too, still came in shuddering near-sobs.

"I won't lose another brother," he choked, voice catching in his throat but strong, "because he tried to save me." Queen straightened. He didn't turn towards Thatch, merely continuing to stare at Marco. For a moment, Queen was silent. Then he began to laugh. Marco and Thatch stared at him warily.

"I figured it out, Marco. I found your deadly sin." Queen's arms hung limply at his sides, his left hand still holding the axe loosely. His eyes focused on Marco and he grinned, eye huge. "Sloth. You just can't be bothered, can you, to save those you care about?"

With one hand, he threw the axe horizontally at an impossible speed, dodging beyond possibility.

It spun only once before burying itself in the meat of Thatch's stomach.

The momentum and weight carried Thatch to the floor, the surprise too great for him even to scream. He lay on his back, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. For a moment, Marco didn't believe it.

And then the blood began to flow.

"THATCH!" Marco practically flew across the floor, ignoring Queen entirely, dropping to a crouch and skidding the last few paces to Thatch's side. He stared at Thatch, horrified, terrified. Already the blood was beginning to trickle down to the stone below, Queen's axe still embedded in his stomach. Marco's hands hovered helplessly, the direness of the situation rendering him blind with panic.

Thatch was still breathing.

Marco could see him fighting to breathe normally through the pain, could see the way adrenaline had widened his pupils. "W-Well that went exactly ac-according to plan," Thatch choked, a tiny trail of blood passing the corner of his mouth. Marco swallowed thickly.

"You idiot. You big fucking idiot. You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine. Keep breathing. Look at me, focus on  _my face._ " Marco's eyes were still flying over Thatch's form, trying to think of something.

Marco could hear Queen's footsteps again, but couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from Thatch, desperately searching for a way to save him. As Queen drew nearer, he didn't even slow down.

He seized the handle of the axe once more, and with one pull ripped it out of Thatch.

Thatch screamed, and the bleeding increased exponentially. Queen didn't even pause, just continued walking, bloodied axe in hand, heading for the doors. "Too slow to act, Marco. Always too damn slow," he said, not glancing over his shoulder. Marco had scrambled, desperately pressing his hands to the injury, but already could see Thatch was practically beyond help.

Marco's eyes flew back to Thatch's face. "Thatch. Thatch!" Thatch's eyes were already beginning to go out of focus and Marco's hands weren't doing much of anything to stop the bleeding. "Look at me.  _Look at me_." Thatch's eyes slowly roved to his face, his breathing shallow and quick. Marco knew he couldn't fix this. Even with Metamorphosis. If it had been an injury to his own body he could have fixed it, but there wasn't a doubt in Marco's mind that Thatch's internal organs had been heinously damaged, and he couldn't fix something that complex on someone else.

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing.

He was already too late.

All that was left was to watch Thatch die.

Some of his emotions and thoughts must have shown on his face, because Thatch spoke, voice broken and strained. "Marco get out of here. Queen's going for Oyaji and-" He coughed, a few drops of blood spewing from his mouth. Marco could see how much pain he was in. Thatch nodded minutely, a small, weak smile forming on his face. "You two can take him. You got this. It's fine. Just go help Oyaji. He…He needs you more than I do."

"Shut up. Shut up. It's fine, you're going to be fine, we're going to save you!" Marco snapped, hands drenched in Thatch's blood. Thatch's eyes looked almost pitying.

"How? I know you want to help, Marco. But you and I both know there's nothing left to be done. So go do what you still can." Thatch chuckled quietly. "Dammit Ace. Couldn't you have given me at least  _one_  of my swords? I might have at least stood a  _chance_ against these nightmares." Marco's eyes snapped wide.

"Thatch," he said slowly, the idea still forming in his mind. "I need you to listen to me very carefully." Thatch's unfocused eyes seemed to settle more firmly on Marco's face, a bit more attention in them. Marco licked his lips. "…This is a dream." Thatch blinked at him, mild confusion on his face.

"What? No it's not. This is Wonderland, this is Ace's mi-"

"No. No it's not. You're dreaming right now. This is  _your_  dream. None of this is real. You're lying in your bed asleep right now and your overactive imagination has conjured up this shit. It's a  _dream._  It's three in the morning right now in the waking world." Marco could see the confusion still on Thatch's face, but shock made him more susceptible to persuasion. "What the hell would a pipe-smoking caterpillar or bloodthirsty tyrant be doing in a 10-year-old's mind? This is all you, Thatch.  _Your_  dream. You're sleeping right now. Fast asleep. Right back home in your bed on the Moby. This is all a dream."  _And you can't die in your own dreams._

_You just wake up right before you do._

Marco really, really hoped this was actually going to work.

"I have a pretty fucked up imagination…" Thatch murmured, breathing growing fainter still, eyes half closed. Marco forced a laugh.

"You bet you do. What kind of freak gets himself hurt in his own dreams?" The bleeding was becoming more sluggish as Thatch's heart rate began decreasing. He had less than 20 seconds.

Marco had never been a man of faith, but in this moment he found himself praying with every scrap of will he possessed.

"This has been really fucked up. When I wake up I hope I have time to hopefully get a better dream…" Thatch said, voice now barely audible. "All this Wonderland bullshit. Maybe I should-" Thatch never got to finish that sentence.

He disappeared.

Poof.

Just gone.

Marco stared at the place he'd been laying just a moment before, feeling his heart stop in his chest. He wouldn't know. He had no way of knowing until he got out of here, until this whole ordeal was over.

He had no way of knowing if, in that moment, Thatch had just snapped awake or died.

* * *

"Oh daddy  _deeeaaarrreeesssttt!"_  Queen sang, practically leaping down the stairs.

Whitebeard had struggled to his feet by now, face a grimace of pain, blood streaming down his face. His right leg wouldn't take his full weight, and he knew he'd broken at least four ribs. He was unarmed. Not exactly prime fighting condition.

Nonetheless, it wasn't fear for himself that sent a cold spear of dread down his spine upon seeing Queen.

If Queen was here and Marco and Thatch weren't, Queen must have incapacitated them.

"What did you do," Whitebeard growled. It was hardly even a question the way he said it. Queen giggled.

"Ooooooooh, daddy's not one to be taken lightly!" His eyes darkened, but the challenging smile remained. "All right, then. No games. I won't toy with  _you._ "

Queen crossed the hall in an instant, standing just before Whitebeard, staring up into his face. "But tell me, why do  _you_  care what I did?" he lilted. Whitebeard tried to attack but Queen dodged seemingly effortlessly, leaping aside as if the blow were slow. He giggled.

"You're so… _simple_ , daddy dearest. You're the easiest to figure out of all three." This time it was Queen's turn to attack, Whitebeard narrowly avoiding the blow, forcing him back a pace. He twirled the axe effortlessly, pressing on the offensive. He was damn fast. Faster than Whitebeard could consistently dodge.

Dodging had never really had a place in his fighting style.

But having no devil fruit and no weapon had Whitebeard at far more of a disadvantage than he'd care to admit. He knew hand-to-hand combat and could claim proficiency, but he was no master and compared to Queen, whose blade was clearly as familiar to him as his pulse, he wouldn't be able to keep up for long.

"Your sin is hubris." Queen swung again, and this time the blow glanced off, nicking Whitebeard's right arm. "You're so overconfident. Prideful." Another swing. Near miss. Another step back. "You think you can fix everyone, don't you?" This time a feint, the first yet and blindingly fast, and the unexpected move landed Whitebeard a blow to the shoulder. "You think your little utopia with its fresh start can fix whatever baggage people are carrying from their pasts." The horizontal swipe grazed his forearm. "You're so pompous as to believe that just by association, by just  _being near you_  people will recover, will change, that whatever has happened to them or shaped them into wrong and bad and evil will just melt away." Whitebeard took another step back, dodging another blow, trying to throw in a parry but having to draw back further when Queen instantly retaliated. "Just like you did with Ace. I saw it happen through his eyes. I helped keep him fighting. But that bitch just gave up eventually.  _How dare you_  even  _think_  you can save him. How dare you convince him to believe you." Queen was snarling in fury by this point. He threw one last blow, Whitebeard having to actually leap backwards to dodge this one, then smiled victoriously.

And slammed the cell door in Whitebeard's face.

Whitebeard's eyes widened, and he instantly threw himself against the door, trying to throw it open before Queen could lock it.

He was too late.

Queen's face appeared near the slot in the door. "Oh daddy. So easily manipulated. So…dumb. How should I do it, I wonder? How should I take off  _your_  head?" Queen grinned. "Of course there's the classic, literal definition. But with you I think we'll go more metaphorical." The grin fell from Queen's face. "I'm going to make you scream until your ears bleed." Queen's head turned, looked down the hallway, seeing something Whitebeard couldn't. His grin returned though, tenfold. He barked out a laugh of surprise and unexpected glee. " _Perfect_  timing!" he crowed. "And here I thought we were going to have to wait for Ace to finally give me the chance to stretch my legs. I have to say, I've been dying to explore 'reality'." Whitebeard could feel a strange kind of pull at his consciousness, seeming to tug him towards whatever Queen had looked at, almost like a kind of gentle suction. Queen leaned forward further still. "Wanna know how I'm gonna do it? How I'm gonna unmake you?" He cackled, pressing his palms against the door. "You thought you could save them. You. Were.  _Wrong._  They're all gonna die because of you~!" Whitebeard felt dread pooling in his stomach. Queen began dragging his nails down the surface of the door, eliciting a hideous squealing noise. And he began to sing, voice steeped in victory and elation.

"Ladybird ladybird

fly away home.

Your house is on fire,

your children _ALL ALONE_ _!"_

* * *

(A/N: THE PLOT FUCKIN' THICKENS ALL UP IN HERE. Sorry. That cliffhanger though. Do you guys get it? I tried to make it clear but it's remarkably early in the morning. So this author's notes is going to be short.

 **AND HERE'S THE KINDA IMPORTANT THING YOU SHOULD READ:**  I am going to a con the weekend of February 28th. Wasabi Con. So for one thing, I won't have any writing time next week. For another, if any of you are also going, feel free to look for me! On Friday my sister and I are cosplaying Liz and Patty (I'm Patty) from Soul Eater. On Saturday we're post timeskip Nami and fem!Zoro (I'm Zoro). On Sunday We're pre timeskip Ace and Luffy (I'm Luffy). So if you find us, feel free to come say hi!

Oh, this is probably me just being weird and dumb and whatever, but did you guys not really like the last chapter? I didn't get as many reviews on it as I usually do. Hopefully this one was better! It certainly had more action in it.

Well anyway, have a nice rest of your weekend, and I'll see you next time (or maybe at Wasabi! c;) ~Mountain97)


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47: (A/N: oh dear lord am I in a terrible mood right now. Please deal with my anger and any possible spelling/grammar mistakes that accompany it. Suffice to say school is pissing me the hell off and I’m writing in class right now. Math class, to be exact. So wish me luck on my next quiz. For review replies: I’ll have them out soon. Sorry they’re not out now, but as before stated I’m in a really bad mood and I don’t want to be rude to you guys. So yeah. Hope you enjoy! Hope my anger doesn’t kill the writing quality!

*aggressively blasts Kill the Rabbit playlist to give motivation to write and to tune out the fucking annoying people in my class*

Fun fact: Sharks have remarkably good hearing. It’s true. Look it up.

And in case you hadn’t noticed, this story kind of plays by One Piece’s rules of injury and one’s ability to stand up after taking ridiculous amounts of damage. So yes, it’s unrealistic. But guess what? So’s the fandom it’s based on so deal.

**This chapter has been rated T+ for sequences of GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, and ME STRUGGLING TO WRITE COMBAT**

And now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!!)

 

The air smelled different. It had a bright, brackish tang, without the stale deadness of Wonderland’s seas. There wasn’t the oppressive stench of rot, and the breeze that gusted by occasionally was fresh and cool. Spray launched off the figurehead, brushing his face, and the sun warmed his back.

“…A-Ace?!” His face split into a grin and he turned his head slowly so the right side of his face became visible to the person behind him.

“Not exactly!”

* * *

Thatch snapped awake, sitting up with a gasp. His hands instantly clutched at his stomach, but there was no wound, no blood, no pain. He looked around desperately. No Queen, either. No throne room. No Red Palace.

But his eyes locked on the comatose forms of Marco, Whitebeard, and Ace.

He felt something in his chest clench. He’d failed. He’d failed Ace, he’d failed Whitebeard and Marco. And now there was nothing he could do to he-

A powerful thud snapped Thatch’s attention upwards, towards the ceiling. It was distant, maybe even all the way up on the deck. It sounded like something had just hit something else. Hard.

Thatch’s brows furrowed. He threw back the covers (he’d been unconscious on one of the cots in the infirmary. Selma and the others must have moved them after they fell into the flashbacks) and swung his feet to the floor. It was…somehow surreal, being back in reality. He’d expected it to feel fundamentally different from Wonderland, something in the air being somehow dissimilar. But it wasn’t.

It felt exactly the same.

Shaking off the thought, Thatch stood. The gentle swaying of the Moby beneath his feet was familiar and reassuring. **_THUD._** Thatch’s eyes snapped upward again, face creasing with confusion. _The hell_ is _that?_ He made his way to the door, heading out into the corridor.

It was dead silent.

 _Where is everyone?_ The ship seemed to contain none of its usual movement and life. No footsteps could be heard, no distant laughter. It was totally still. **_THUD._** Thatch followed the sound, weaving down the corridors of his home. The infirmary was on one of the lower levels of the ship, but in no time he was on the upper levels, nearer the deck.  
              The signs of damage began to stand out.

Thatch stopped near the first, a deep gash in one of the walls. He ran a hand over it carefully, the wood splintering around the damage. It went nearly 6 inches into the wall. The next was a series of gouges in the floor, all deep, nearly penetrating through the ceiling of the floor beneath. **_THUD._**

The sound was getting nearer. It was now accompanied by other sounds. Namely breaking wood. Thatch’s pace picked up, moving at a quick jog but not quite a run.

He got the feeling he’d need to conserve his strength.

The damage to the ship became more numerous and more brutal. Doors were reduced to splinters and hinges, walls dented, the floor pocked with gouges and slashes. **_THUD._** The pounding sounded near, just a few hallways away.

And now Thatch could hear a voice.

“Sing a song of sins past  
A goblet full of lye  
All the Whitebeard Pirates  
Baked into a pie! 

When the pie was opened,  
Their father cried and screamed!  
Was this not a dainty dish  
To set before Red Queen?

Your brother’s in the mad house,  
Clawing out his eyes!  
Your daddy’s in the dungeon,  
Regretting all his lies!

Look me in the face, boys,  
see your sins in red!  
What better time is there than now  
For taking off your heads?!” The voice was nearly a shriek with its volume, half-carrying the tune in a way that tightened Thatch’s spine. He was full out running now. He knew that voice.

But how in hell had Queen gotten on the ship?

He swung around a few more corners and suddenly, near the end of the hallway, he saw him. Red Queen. 4’8” and hefting an axe bigger than he was. **_THUD._** He’d just slammed said axe into the bowed, mostly shattered door of one of the larger bunkrooms. The door had clearly been under assault for some time, and it wasn’t going to last much longer. It must’ve been barricaded on the other side to even still be standing. Queen would have it down in one or two more blows. If it was barricaded, and if Queen was attacking it so persistently…

A good portion of Thatch’s family had to be on the other side.

 _Smart move, whoever decided running would be a better option._ Unprepared, Thatch knew his siblings weren’t ready to fight Queen. That much had been made clear by his, Whitebeard, and Marco’s utterly ineffective, ill-equipped attack. But still. That door was coming down any second. Sure the people on the other side would have had more time to make ready in that time, but very, _very_ few weapons were ever stored in the bunkrooms. A large portion of them would still, in all likelihood, be unarmed. They needed help. Quick. Thatch didn’t think.

“HEY QUEEN!” he shouted, interrupting Queen’s movement as he lifted the axe above his head in preparation for his next strike. Queen’s attention snapped to him, axe frozen midair. He cocked his head almost inquisitively. _Shit shit shit. Okay. First thing’s first: get him away from the door. Queen is Ace’s sin. Wrath, gluttony, sloth, envy, pride- Pride._ He ignored the part of his mind shrieking that this was absolutely the worst idea he’d ever had and forced a mocking grin. “Did a pretty shitty job taking off my head, didn’t you?” He leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance. “You know, after everything the others said about you, I have to say I’m a little disappointed. Not exactly the perfect warrior and flawless executioner everyone in Wonderland seems to think you are.” He wasn’t close enough to see, but it was easy enough to imagine Queen’s grip on the handle of his axe was nearly crushing. He could feel the growing rage, the air nearly crackling with it. Thatch could hear his heart in his ears. This was _so_ not going to go well. But his smile didn’t falter, his own tongue forming what tasted like a death sentence. _“Pathetic.”_

The snarl Queen made was the most animalistic sound he’d ever heard human vocal cords produce. Thatch only waited long enough to see Queen’s body turning to face him, one foot raised in the first step of pursuit before he was bolting back the way he’d come. He didn’t waste time looking over his shoulder, he knew Queen was following him well enough by the almost inhuman, spat words of a rage so pure they were almost incomprehensible.

Thatch skidded around a corner, feet sliding as he momentarily lost traction on the floor. He didn’t stop and didn’t allow himself to fall, straightening and sprinting down the hallway, leaping down a whole flight of stairs. He heard Queen slam into the wall, but he didn’t flinch or pause, Thatch could hear his footsteps still coming steadily after him. They were getting closer. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

He wouldn’t be able to outrun Queen indefinitely. That much was obvious. Not only did he have limited stamina, Queen was faster.

He might have a _chance_ if he fought back.

Because this time he’d have his swords.

This logical progression of thought was both helpful and disheartening. Because right now he _didn’t_ have his swords. They were in his room, three decks below and half the ship away. _FUCK._

Thatch skidded around another sharp turn, Queen’s roared insults on his heels.

* * *

“Is it gone?” Selma asked, pressing someone’s wadded up shirt to the deep wound on Fossa’s shoulder. He’d been the one to spot Queen on the figurehead first. Damn good reflexes were all that had saved his arm and his life, but if Selma couldn’t get him to the infirmary soon he might bleed out. “We need to get Fossa downstairs stat. He’s going to need a blood transfusion and a _fuckton_ of stitches.”

“He’s gone. I heard him run off like hell was on his heels,” Namur said softly. “…I thought I heard something else too…”

“Oh God. Like _what?_ We don’t need more-“

“It sounded like Thatch.” The whole room collectively froze, all attention snapping to Namur. He didn’t back down, looking between them and meeting their eyes evenly.

“…Holy shit,” Izou breathed. “They might be awake.”

“What do we do?” A member of fifth division asked, looking between the commanders anxiously. “We don’t know if the rest of the crew is all right. We don’t know where that _monster_ got off to. Hell, the voice could have just been another delusion or trick!” He looked between his companions desperately. “We’re safe here. We should stay put and wait for it to disappear, like the others did.”

“We wouldn’t have been safe here for much longer if that thing hadn’t left,” Izou reasoned, trying to make his voice comforting. “That door wouldn’t have lasted another four minutes. That makes me think it might really be Thatch. And besides, if we don’t get Fossa medical support soon, he’s a goner.” He looked back up at Namur and Vista. “So there really isn’t an option. And besides: Thatch is going to need help. He might be the best damn swordsman I’ve ever seen but that thing doesn’t play fair.”

“Izou’s right. Here’s what I think we should do. Izou, myself, and the majority of us will head for the infirmary. We’ll get Fossa there safely and station a force there to guard the room. Vista, you go find Thatch and whatever the hell that thing was. Once we’ve secured the infirmary, a group of us can go out to find out what the rest of the crew’s been doing. We’ll bring any injured back to the infirmary,” Namur said, voice in the forced calm of battle-mode.

“Sounds like a plan,” Vista responded, pushing himself off the wall, settling one hand on the hilt of one sword. He took a deep breath, then nodded firmly towards the barricaded door. “Let’s open it up.”

* * *

Thatch ran down the stairs, taking them at reckless speed and jumping the last five. Queen was gaining ground steadily and he was starting to lose his wind. He was on the right deck now, though, and headed in the right direction. Just a few more turns, a long hallway, and he’d be there. He was panting now, his legs beginning to burn fiercely.

“What’s a matter, Queen?” he hollered between pants. “Can’t even carry out justice on me?” Queen gave a furious roar, and for a moment, Thatch heard his footsteps stop. A moment later, there was the sound of fracturing wood, then another moment of silence. _Oh shit did he somehow get off course? Is he not following me-_

The door Queen had torn off its hinges and thrown like a rectangular Frisbee collided with Thatch’s back, carrying him off his feet and into the wall of the corridor he’d been about to turn down. Thatch fell to the floor, dazed, fighting desperately to remain conscious, to get back to his feet, to keep running. He rapidly blinked, trying to chase the swimming black spots from his vision. He needed to get up, he needed to _go,_ Queen was _coming-_

A hand like steel closed around his throat, lifting him slowly from his position lying on the floor. His mouth gaped open, no air making it past that crushing grip. He felt like his head was going to be severed from the sheer force of Queen’s grip.

“I’m gonna rip your _fucking mouth out,”_ Queen snarled, face inches before Thatch’s own. His lip was curled, exposing his teeth. “I’m gonna hang it on the _fucking wall like a trophy!”_ Maybe antagonizing all of Ace’s wrath condensed into a single being was a really bad idea. “You think you’re fucking hilarious don’t you?! A fucking _comedian.”_ He leaned in closer, grinning right before Thatch’s face, worms writhing agitatedly in his right eye socket. “Go on. _Say something funny.”_ Thatch was still gaping airlessly around Queen’s grip on his throat. _“Say. Something. FUNNY!”_ With each word he slammed Thatch’s head progressively harder into the wall behind it, searing flashes of agony and white flares surging behind Thatch’s eyes. On the last word he turned, lifting Thatch like he weighed no more than a doll and throwing him into the wall to his left.

Thatch felt any air in his lungs leave him in a pained gasp (he didn’t have quite enough to scream) as he collided with the wall, moving into and through it accompanied by a shower of splinters and planks. He landed on the floor of the room adjacent to the hallway, rolling to a stop, feeling sharp pieces of wood poking at his back and limbs as he lay on them. His mind was dulled with pain, and it took him a moment to recognize the room he’d just been thrown through the wall of.

The infirmary.

Oh. Fucking. Hell.

“Well this is kind of fucking perfect dontcha think? Your screams can be the first your daddy gets to hear!” Thatch tried to push himself to his feet, but Queen planted a foot on his spine, shoving him back to the floor with enough force he was sure he’d have a lovely, foot-shaped bruise. You know. Over the lovely door-shaped one. “Now now little rabbit. What are you so scared of? And where _exactly_ are you going to run off to?” Thatch turned his head so he could see Queen standing over him over the side of his eye. He had his axe hefted on one shoulder, and was grinning. He stooped, grabbing a fistful of Thatch’s hair, releasing his back from under his foot. Thatch’s mind was too busy still trying to come back online after been thrown _through a wall_ to fight back or try to get away.

Queen dragged him through the shrapnel strewn across the floor, ignoring his faint groans of pain. He knew he’d cracked at least two ribs. Selma was going to be pissed. Queen stopped beside one of the cots, holding Thatch idly and regarding the figure lying upon it.

“Hello daddy,” he said, voice between a snarl and a sneer. “How nice to see you again! Can you hear me down there?” Queen didn’t wait long for a response, knowing he wouldn’t exactly be getting one from the comatose captain. “I thought this would be a good way to start the show!” He leaned closer, bending slightly. His voice dropped the false cheer, turning to cold, bare fury. “And while you listen to Thatch gurgling while he tries to scream, I want you to remember this is _your fault._ You’ve been _too damn proud,_ daddy. This is a _lesson_. This is to _teach you._ ” He grinned again, this time a bitter smile and something like despair in his eyes. “Have you realized it yet?! Have you figured it out?!” The despair was gone as quickly as it’d come, the worms seeming to have burrowed deeper into his skull. The grin was now nothing more than cruel.

“You can’t save anyone, daddy.” The words were slightly…breathy, like they hung on the cusp of a laugh. “You can’t save Ace from Hare, you can’t save Ace from himself, and _you can’t save your children from me!”_ A moment of perfect silence fell as Queen glared at Whitebeard almost accusingly.

With a gasp, Queen released Thatch’s hair, leaping back, whirling to face the other way. His eyes narrowed, his free hand moving slowly to the light, shallow cut on his left side. He drew his fingers away, studying the crimson before moving his eyes back up.

“It seems all the scared rabbits decided to come out of their holes,” Queen observed. Izou had another throwing knife ready in one hand, pistol locked and loaded in the other. Namur moved over to Thatch, taking a protective step in front of him. Thatch, with enough oxygen for his brain to actually function normally, scoffed, forcing himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp flare of pain from his side and back. Injuries were for later.

“It’s good to see you again, Thatch,” Izou said, never taking his eyes off of Queen. Thatch grinned through his pain.

“You know, you missed a chance for a pretty badass one-liner.” Izou smirked.

“I figured a precise and effective stealth attack would be more appreciated than a witty comeback. Though the attack was a little less effective than intended.” Izou cast him a momentary glance. “You all right?” Thatch straightened, wincing.

“I’ve been better. This wasn’t quite the welcome I was expecting upon waking up.” Queen was looking between the occupants of the room, clearly deciding what his next move should be.

“What is this, exactly? It’s not Ace,” Namur said. The last part almost sounded like a question and Thatch felt his jaw tighten. He took a deep breath. There’d be time for all of that later, once Queen was dealt with.

“This is Red Queen. He’s from Wonderland. He represents every part of Ace that might be deemed morally wrong. Everything from the capacity for murder to lying about brushing his teeth in the morning. Self-loathing and guilt are those friendly-looking worms picking his brain. He’s dangerous as hell.” Queen grinned.

“Such a charmer!” His smile was cold as death. “But you should step aside unless you really want to get hurt.”

“If you really think we’re going to step aside and just _kill_ Oyaji-“ Queen’s eyes snapped to Izou.

“Who said I was going after him?” Everyone tensed. “I first came here to kill you and don’t fret, I’ll get to that. Daddy needs to learn a lesson on boasting and pretending to have power over things he couldn’t possibly hope to control. But right now? Priorities. There’s someone far guiltier in this room.” Thatch felt his jaw tighten. _He means me. He’s coming after me for-_

“Ace’s head has been on his shoulders for far too long.”

Thatch felt every fiber of his being stiffen with shock. Izou and Namur wore similar expressions of surprise that Thatch was sure his own face matched.  “Wha…?” Namur started, confusion evident in his voice.

“So many deaths. So many lies. I know best, having spent al my time riding around behind his eyes. I’ve seen all his crimes firsthand. Seen them in a way all of you, frankly, haven’t. I’m the most qualified to pass judgment on him. And if there is one person on this whole disgusting planet that deserves to die, it’s him.” Queen’s eyes locked back on them. “So _step aside_.”

Silence reigned.

Thatch watched Izou and Namur carefully for any indication of what they were going to do next. He didn’t think Queen’s words would change their opinions on anything, but one could never be too certain and people were always a variable. Thatch blinked. Had he really thought that? Doubted his _brothers?_ …It wasn’t like him.

“…We’re pirates,” Izou finally said. “Lying? Killing? We do that on a _daily basis._ If you say Ace deserves to die for those things, then so do we.” He widened his stance to one more suited for combat, Namur following suit. “So come after us first. Because there’s no way in hell we’re letting you get to Ace.”

“You know _nothing!”_ Queen snarled. “You don't know what he’s done, what he’s capable of, what he could do in the future! He’s an abomination, a stain, a ravage on the face of the-“

“You know, I don’t like it when people talk about my family like that,” Namur said calmly. “Hey Thatch. Do us a favor. Go get your swords. Then find the other commanders. We’ll hold him off until you get back.” Queen smiled coldly, the wrath of a god in his eyes.

“’Hold me off’? _The worms will be eating your tongues before Thatch makes it to the end of the hall.”_ Queen shook his head, sneering. _“_ All of you and your hubris. I’ll see you scream for it.”

“Thatch. Go,” Izou said, aiming his pistol at Queen. Thatch didn’t need to be told a third time.

He and Queen moved at the exact same moment.

Thatch threw himself towards the door, and Queen threw himself at Izou and Namur. Thatch saw Izou throw the second knife, saw Queen’s head cock unnaturally far unnaturally fast to dodge it-

And then he was out the door.

 _They can handle it they can handle it you aren’t going to be gone long,_ Thatch tried to reason with himself, sprinting down the hall. He knew, logically, that he couldn’t do anything to exactly _help_ without his own weapons, but that didn’t help the weight of dread in his guts.

The hallways passed quickly, seeming shorter now that there wasn’t a murderous monarch on his heels. Thatch rounded the last turn, barreling into his door so hard it slammed into the wall, its hinges squealing protest. A cursory glance of his room found it the way it’d been before, albeit with maybe the faintest coating of dust.

His swords were still leaning against the wall beside his bed right where he’d left them.

He grabbed both long swords, strapping them to his waist with practiced grace as he turned and headed back out the door. Their weight at his hip felt familiar as he ran once more down the corridor. But this time he wasn’t silent.

He traveled at more of a jog now, saving his breath for shouting.

“JOZU! VISTA! HARUTA! CAN YOU GUYS HEAR ME?!” he bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth to maximize volume. “ANYONE! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, GET YOUR ASSES OUT HERE NOW!”

He travelled down a few hallways before he had any luck. By the time one of the doors flew open, an ecstatic Haruta launching herself out, his throat was beginning to ache from all the screaming. Haruta had her arms around him the moment she was out the door, almost lurching him around with the force with which she threw herself at him.

“Thatch! Oh my God! You’re back!” She released him to look more closely at his face. Only now did she seem to see the disarray of his hair, the small trail of blood down his face, and the forming bruise around his throat. Her eyes widened. “Holy shit what happened?”

“Haruta there’s someone from Wonderland on the ship right now. Someone really dangerous. So I hate to be brief, but we need to go back to the infirmary to back up Izou and Namur because by themselves they won’t be able to hold him off for long. Is there anyone else with you?” Haruta’s expression had shifted from elation to calm focus. She absorbed each of Thatch’s words carefully, instantaneously, and perfectly.

“There’s only a few members of sixth and twelfth division here. But I have a baby den den mushi that should be able to connect me to the other commanders. We going to need more backup?” Her voice was cool and calm, no trace of fear or self-doubt.

“Hell yes. Get everyone you can, particularly Vista and Jozu. This guy fights with a wicked battle-axe, Jozu’s devil fruit will be helpful and nobody with hand-to-hand combat is really a good idea. Call them, and meet me back at the infirmary as soon as you can. I’m going to head back now to help them out, I’ve seen this guy fight before I might be able to help more.” Haruta regarded him carefully for a moment, lips pursed.

“…You sure you’re good to fight?” Some hint of his pain must have showed in his eyes. Dammit.

“Yes I’m fine. There’ll be time to patch me up after Queen’s gone.”

“Queen?”

“That’s the name of this thing. It looks like Ace. And it’s a damn good liar. Don’t let him fool you into sympathy. He almost killed Oyaji and Marco, and he actually _did_ kill me and that’s why I’m awake.” Haruta’s eyes had widened, but she quickly regained her passive expression.

“Then you need to get the hell back to the infirmary to help Izou and Namur.” She smiled slightly. “You get going, we’ll catch up. I’ll have Rakuyo, Curiel, and Jiru round up the crew and make sure they’re all safe. I’ll try to reach Vista, Blenheim, Atmos, and Blamenco and send them your way, but I’m not sure if they have their den den mushis on them. I’ll come meet you at the infirmary once I’ve contacted everyone. No go!” She turned, heading back inside the room she’d just come from and Thatch instantly started running back down the hall, shouting thanks over his shoulder.

The run back to the infirmary was uneventful, but as he drew nearer Thatch winced at the evidence of battle that marred the ship. It had gotten _violent._ Chunks were taken out of the wall, the hole where Thatch had been thrown _through_ the wall quite large, stretching nearly to the floor.

There was a spatter of blood on the floorboards near the door.

Thatch threw himself through the door, one hand already on a sword hilt. Selma instantly leapt to her feet, whirling to face him, wielding the scalpel she had in her hands with wide eyes. Upon seeing him, she relaxed back into her chair beside Fossa’s cot. She’d finished stitching the wound, and wordlessly handed a roll of bandages to a member of fifth division with the instructions to, “wrap it tight. Not enough to cut circulation but like you mean it.”

“Where’s Queen?” Thatch asked. Izou and Namur had either pushed him back or lured him away. Thatch, having fought Queen, was more inclined to believe the latter. He knew his brother’s strengths. He knew they fought well as a team. But Queen fought like a nightmare and didn’t play fair. Selma raised one eyebrow.

“What’s it to you?” Thatch almost openly gaped at her.

“Uh I dunno maybe _fighting him_ so he doesn’t _kill anyone?!”_ Selma’s face set in a grim line. She stood, marched over to him, and grabbed one of his ears, dragging him down the eight or so inches so his face was level with hers.

“Don’t you sass me, Marcus James Thatch. And don’t you even _dream_ of running off to fight! Not only are you _clearly_ injured, you _just woke up from a coma._ You are not allowed to do _jack shit_ until I make sure you’re ready for it! Now sit down and let me check your damn head!” Selma dragged him across the room by his ear to a cot – the same cot he’d occupied comatose only this morning – and sat him down.

“But Selma be _reasonable!_ Izou and Namur can’t fight Queen by themselves! They need _help!”_

“And they’ll get it!” Selma snapped. “Fossa still had his den den mushi on him. We heard Haruta and told her to send the other commanders to the deck! They _already have backup by now!”_

Thatch tried to come up with a retort. A reason for why exactly _he_ needed to be up there so badly. But even he didn’t know why it felt so _necessary_ for him to be up there. With so many if not quite all of the commanders there? _Could_ Queen stand a chance? Even he must be overwhelmed, surely? Against 8 or so Whitebeard Pirates Division Commanders, even a nightmare like Queen couldn’t compare.

…Right?

Unease settled like sickness in Thatch’s chest, but with no compelling argument to plead his case, he succumbed to Selma’s prodding.

* * *

Blamenco swung his hammer, Queen bringing up his arms to block the blow from hitting his face. He skidded across the deck with the force of it, bare feet sliding across the smooth wood. Before he’d even stopped moving, Vista and Haruta were there, attacking simultaneously with their swords. Queen ducked passively under Haruta’s swipe, grabbing Vista’s arm and throwing him into her with enough force for the two of them to go skidding across the deck in a heap until they collided with a railing.

Atmos swung a debilitating blow at his head, Queen raising his axe to catch the blow, metal screaming on metal as the blade of Atmos’ sword was caught between the blade and pole of Queen’s axe. Queen grinned at Atmos maniacally.

“Trying to decapitate me? A man after my own heart!” With a twist and an ear-splitting screech Atmos’ sword was broken, Queen snapping off more than half using his axe as a lever. Wasting no time, Queen slashed vertically at Atmos, a blow narrowly caught by Blenheim’s sword. He grunted and strained under the pressure from Queen’s axe, and Queen laughed cruelly, beginning to press him slowly to the floor.

Just before Blenheim’s arms gave out, Queen was wrenched away by a powerful blow from Jozu. He gasped in surprise and pain at the attack of the new arrival, the blow sending him crashing into the railing near the aft of the ship. He landed with a dull thud, rolling once, twice, before coming to a stop lying on his side near the railing.

 _Oooh. Okay then. Let’s play a different game, shall we?_ His axe had been knocked from his hand on the impact with the deck, but it had skidded to a stop a few feet away. He’d be able to get to it easily enough. He was facing away from the pirates, and raised one hand to the right side of his face, pressing against the eye socket. _Back inside, loves. Just for a little while. We’re going to play pretend._

He could hear footsteps approaching. Heavy enough Queen was sure they were Jozu.

“…Is it dead?” A somewhat distant voice asked. It sounded like the sword girl. _You wish. You’re not strong enough to unlive me, bitch._ Queen took a moment to paint the mask. How perfect that it was _Jozu_ approaching. This would almost be _too_ easy. He wore his guilt like a shroud.

He felt a toe prod him, seemingly checking for life. As soon as it came in contact with his torso he sprung up, scrambling back on hands and feet. Jozu instantly assumed a battle stance, but Queen made no move to actually stand, scuttling back until his back collided with the railing. He had his right eye carefully shut, the worms tucked back into his skull, and the left widened with fear.

“Don’t hurt me! Please, please don’t hurt me!” he’d carefully pitched his voice just like Ace had, all that time ago, when he’d tried to flee Jozu and the third division after seeing Hare, just before he’d gone back to Wonderland. Queen saw the muscles in Jozu’s torso tense with hesitation. “I was Queen before but I ripped him out see, he’s gone, no more worms! Please, it’s just me! Don’t hurt me, Jozu!” Queen forced tears into his eye.

“Jozu don’t listen to it! Kill it! It’s not Ace!” _Shut up sword bitch. Just watch the show._

Jozu seemed to almost jump at Haruta’s words, coming back to reality. _Oh no. You can’t out manipulate me._ Jozu raised one fist and Queen shrank back, staring at him, wide-eyed. His eyes flicked between Jozu’s fist and his face, huge with terror, and he allowed the first tear to roll down his face.

“Oh God. I was right. I was right. I should have run away from you. I should have known you were going to hurt me. God, I _did_ know, you cornered me in that hallway! I was right to be scared of you!” The tears were flowing steadily now, and Jozu was completely frozen. His eyes were wide with shock, mouth slightly slack.

“Jozu! _Now!_ It’s _lying!_ It’s not Ace!” Jozu turned slowly, grief and guilt and anguish on his face, to look at Haruta.

“But how could it know that, Haruta? How could it possibly-“

Queen moved like lightning, darting right, grabbing his axe, and embedding it deep in Jozu’s side. Jozu choked on his words, eyes widening with pain. His gaze flicked down to Queen’s face, and Queen opened his right eye again, the worms wriggling forth eagerly. Queen grinned up at him, eye widened.

“GUILTY~”

* * *

 _Thatch you need to get up there_ NOW! The nagging sense of wrong had been picking at him, growing more and more frantic. But now it was articulate, and loud with desperation. And suddenly, it made sense. Why he couldn’t explain it to Selma.

It was Ace’s thought.

Ace was communicating with him.

And something was very, very wrong.

Ignoring Selma’s immediate and vehement protests, Thatch practically leapt to his feet, scooping up his swords from where they’d been leaned against his bed, and ran for the door.

He felt like he’d never moved faster. The hallways passed in blurs and he flew up the staircases. In moments, he was on the deck.

“Jozu! _Now!_ It’s _lying!_ It’s not Ace!” Thatch’s eyes swept across the scene, instantly snapping on where Jozu was standing. From this perspective he could only see Queen’s axe slightly off to the side, and he assumed Queen must be behind Jozu. Jozu turned slowly to look at Haruta, and Thatch saw bitter torment in his eyes. Thatch’s eyes widened and he started to move, somehow already knowing he’d be too slow. _Dammit dammit dammit don’t take your eyes off him NO-!_

“But how could it know that, Haruta? How could it possibly-“ Thatch saw the axe move, saw Jozu’s eyes widen, and saw the blood begin to pour.

“GUILTY~” Queen half-sang. He felt his heart stop in his chest, and dimly felt…something foreign. Later, much later, he’d realize what exactly had happened at this moment, but now there was only one thing.

Pure fury.

 _“YOU BITCH!”_ he _screamed,_ moving across the deck so quickly even Queen’s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to yank the axe from Jozu before Thatch got there, but before he could even begin to Thatch was across the deck, one hand in Queen’s hair, the other around his throat.

He dragged Queen away from Jozu, slamming him into the floor so hard that even _Queen_ cried out in pain. Thatch straddled his waist, preventing him from going anywhere. Queen looked up at him, his eye widened hugely in innocent terror.

“Big brother, you’re scaring me!” His breath caught in his throat in a sob of terror. “What are you doing? Why are you hurting me? I thought we were family!” Thatch’s hand closed so tightly around Queen’s throat he felt his windpipe begin to collapse under his grip.

“ _You’re not Ace,”_ Thatch snarled in response. He brought the other hand to Queen’s face, closing his fist around the writhing, slippery forms of the worms, and started to rip them out of Queen’s head. Queen screamed in agony, back arching harshly, left eye squeezed shut. The moment seemed to stretch, Queen’s agonized scream in Ace’s voice searing itself into the minds of everyone on the deck. Some almost moved instinctively to help. Almost.

But then the moment ended.

The worms tore out of Queen’s skull with a sickening pop-squelch. They still wavered, almost confused, in Thatch’s closed fist, held above the both of them. Queen’s scream ended and his back relaxed slowly. His breath still came in tortured, choked gasps, and he seemed to be fighting against further noises of pain. Thatch said nothing, glaring down at him, lip curled. Finally, Queen spoke, a tiny hint of a smile on his face.

“…I always knew you had brutality in you. Such ruthlessness.” His words were laced with pain, but weren’t choked. He spoke smoothly, voice so low Thatch knew he was the only one on deck to hear it. “…You can’t kill them, you know. The worms. You have no weapon or word that works against them. They’ll be there, wriggling in Ace’s mind, until the day he dies.” Queen seemed to almost choke, black sludge spurting between his lips, speckling his face with tiny droplets. He took a moment to seemingly recollect his thoughts, his eye beginning to go unfocused but locked on Thatch’s face. His words were slower now, more uneven.

“Marcus James Thatch. On this the second of November, you stand accused of the temporary murder of Red Queen of Wonderland. I find you-“ Thatch’s hand, previously around Queen’s throat, flew to his belt, drawing one of his swords. He didn’t hesitate, driving harshly it into Queen’s chest, cutting him off. Queen’s face morphed into one of surprise, mouth forming a small ‘o’ of mixed pain and shock. A tiny sound passed his lips.

“Stuff it,” Thatch said coldly. Queen stared at him for a moment longer, and for a moment, a glimmer of recognition sparked in his eye.

And then he unlived.

Thatch stood, composed, and slung Queen’s body over his shoulder. It flopped ungracefully, as corpses are prone to doing, but he didn’t have to carry it far.

He threw it, and the worms, over the railing and into the sea.

As he turned back, he felt something leave him, like a powerful force. Queen was dead. Order was restored. The rage was gone. Thatch sank to his knees, sword falling from his hand. His blade and shirt were stained with Queen’s blood, his left hand with the black, sludgy residue of the worms. The pain and exhaustion of the battle, the running, and his injuries fell upon him like a sack of bricks.

Someone swam into his vision, crouching before him so they were eye to eye. If the damn black spots would go away maybe Thatch could tell who they were.

“…Thatch?” they asked cautiously. Male voice.

“Jozu…needs to go to the infirmary,” he managed to murmur.

“Yeah. We’re taking him down now. You’re not looking so good either, so I’m going to take you down if that’s all right.” The voice still sounded cautious, and almost stunned. Thatch managed to kind of nod, and the person picked him up carefully. He hissed in pain when the shift jarred his broken ribs, and the person holding him almost flinched.

“What’s the matter?” Thatch asked. A moment of silence passed.

“…I…I know that thing needed to be killed, but don’t you think you were just a little…excessive? I’ve…I’ve never seen you fight like that.”

“What, hand to hand? You’ve seen me fight like that tons of times.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

A long bout of silence passed, and Thatch saw the ceiling of the hallway passing by.

“…Why did you dump the body?”

“Hmm?” Thatch had almost fallen unconscious, his carrier’s question escaping his hearing.

“I asked why you dumped the body. He was already dead, why bother? It seemed kind of…I don’t know. Dishonorable.”

“Didn’t want the bitch standing up again.”

“But you’d already _killed_ it, Thatch. It wasn’t _going_ to.”

“You can never be too careful. Threats have to be eliminated. Entirely. _Nobody_ is allowed to hurt my family,” Thatch murmured. His voice was growing weaker as unconsciousness tried to claim him. He was becoming delirious, even _he_ was dimly aware of it.

To be honest, he didn’t know what had made him kill Queen so…savagely.

And that would have scared the hell out of a more conscious him.

But as his eyes drifted closed, one last dim thought echoed through his head. _You did well. My family is safe._

And he smiled.

* * *

(A/N: Hey all hope you enjoyed the end kinda sucks but that just kinda sucks because it’s 2:30 and I need more sleep in my life.

I know I ask this every time but I actually really need you to review this chapter and let me know how I did on the combat scene. The next chapter is also going to be quite combat heavy and I need to know if I’m doing it right and/or what I’m doing wrong. So _PLEASE_ drop a review.

There’s a fuckton of foreshadowing in this chapter. A. FUCKTON. So go look for it!

So…nothing else to really say. Hope you liked it. Hope the end didn’t suck too bad. Hope I can get back to a regular sleep schedule. Goodbye, see you all next time! ~Mountain97)


	48. Chapter 48

Marco took the stairs two at a time, almost slipping on the polished marble. Queen had done something to Oyaji. That much was obvious, based on the lack of audible struggle. Marco had never wished more to fly.

He finally made it to the bottom of the stairwell, the dungeon corridor stretching out bare and silent before him, the only mark of their presence there the broken door and some blood on the walls and floor.

There was no one there.

No Queen, no Oyaji.

Marco skidded to a stop, looking around in confusion. There was literally no other way Queen could have gone. The door had stayed open. He’d watched Queen descend the staircase while he was taking care of Thatch. There were no doors in this hall that led anywhere besides more cells.

“Marco?! Marco is that you?!” Marco practically jumped out of his skin, but almost instantly headed towards the source of the sound at a sprint.

“Yeah, it’s me! Are you all right? What happened? Where’s Queen?!” Marco asked, trying to triangulate the source of the sound in the echoing corridor.

“Marco there’s no time! We have to do something! Queen’s aboard the Moby Dick!” Marco stopped dead in his tracks, before the door.

_“What?!”_ he practically screeched. _“How in hell’s name did he get there?!”_   Desperation, panic, and protective bloodlust began swelling in his veins. Queen would _not_ hurt his family.  **As if any of you could actually take down Queen without help. He’s unlived now. You’re welcome.** Marco froze again.

_What?_

**Queen is unlived. I know you’re intelligent enough to grasp that concept.** He could almost see the grin in his mind’s eye. **Good work getting Thatch back up there, he was a big help.** Marco felt his guts go cold.

_What did you do? Did you-_

**Calm yourself, birdie blue-breast. Everyone has something they’re afraid of enough to become savage for. You and Thatch are remarkably similar in this regard…I’m lucky he trusts Ace so much, even, inexplicably, after he’s seen Wonderland. If his mental barriers weren’t so weak I wouldn’t have been able to use him. I’ll be sure to thank him later.**

_…But I thought- The blood…?_ Shit. Shit shit shit. This was getting out of hand. There was no illusion of control anymore.

**Don’t be foolish. Blood only has power down here. If you haven’t realized, despite the fact that you’re down here you can’t hear Ace’s thoughts. Yet. Your minds are connected right now solely through Wonderland, but when you wake it’ll be more than that. It’s more than that with Thatch already. You should be glad.**

_Glad._ Glad. _You’re telling me-_

**Shut up and get Oyaji out of that cell. We’re agonizingly close to the end of this Caucus Race and I’m anxious to see its conclusion.** Marco’s hands were moving outside of his control, seizing the enormous metal bar that was sealing Whitebeard within the cell.

“I think it’ll be okay, Oyaji. Thatch is up there now. He knows how to deal with Inhabitants. They’ll manage.” He heard himself give a groan of effort – he was aware it was falsified for realism’s sake – as his arms hauled the bar back. “And besides, it’s not like we can do much…we’re stuck down here until the bitter end. We aren’t leaving until Ace’s safety is assured, right?” A moment of silence followed. **His response defines his fate and you know it. I don’t. Harbor. Traitors.**

“…Right. Thatch can handle it. Now get me out of here.” A grin split Marco’s face, foreign and strange.

“That’s the spirit. And Queen’s the last one we had to meet, according to Caterpillar, before we get to Mr. Savage. So it’s not like we’re going to be down here forever anyway. We’re almost home.” **I’m almost home, Marco. How does that make you feel hmmm~?** Marco ignored the condescending mockery in the voice, too consumed with growing dread. They were so irrevocably fucked. And there was nothing they could do about it, it was already too late. **I’ve been careful, Marco. You can’t wriggle out of this. I’ve waited a very, very long time for this and I’ll use whatever means you make necessary to give me the opportunity I need. So don’t make the less fortunate means necessary, okay?** The door was swinging open. There was a chuckle in his head, fading as he was given control again. **Do you hate me, I wonder?**

_No. I understand you too well to hate you._

* * *

“Ah! For _fuck’s sake_ Selma!” Thatch yelped in pain, trying to shy away from the “gentle” touch of the doctor.

“Okay. That makes 3 broken ribs then. But you’re not concussed, at least. And you don’t seem to have any negative side effects from the coma. I don’t think we need to put you on a special diet or anything. I’m sure you know the drill by now for broken ribs?”

“Try to take a deep breath every now and then even though it hurts so that the bottom of my lungs don’t fill with fluid. I got it. I’ve been around this block before, Selma,” Thatch half-droned, half-snapped. Selma gave him a flat look.

“Why did I miss you again?” she asked drily. Thatch grinned.

“Because I’m Prince Charming and you missed my beautiful face?” Selma snorted, putting a hand over his face – quickly followed by muffled exclamations of outrage – and pushing him down to lie on the cot again.

“Yeah something like that. Now how about we have some Q and A.” Thatch instantly took on a more serious expression, as did Selma. The room’s other occupants also directed their attention more fully on Thatch, excepting Jozu who was currently unconscious.

“So. Why are you the only one back?” Selma asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but is there something wrong? Are Marco and Oyaji okay? Is Ace okay?”

“As far as I know, Ace, Marco, and Oyaji are fine. But that information is now a little aged, so things might have changed.” Thatch’s expression darkened. “As for why I’m here…” His eyes fell downward. “I…I wasn’t strong enough. In a moment of psychological weakness, Queen actually…well, he killed me.” Thatch, out of the corner of his eye, saw the expressions of shock around the room. “It’s only because Marco’s a damn quick thinker that I woke up instead of actually… _dying_ dying. He convinced me the whole thing had been a dream and so my brain automatically jolted me awake the moment before shutdown.”

“If you woke up, how can you be sure Oyaji, Marco, and Ace are still okay?” The question came from Haruta this time. Thatch shifted his gaze to her.

“To be entirely honest, I can’t. I can only guess that since Queen materialized here, he didn’t really have time to do anything too bad to either of them. Ace is in a different part of Wonderland all together, and currently facing a different threat.”

“Is Ace in control of these monsters?” Izou asked calmly. But damn was this the one million dollar question. Thatch looked him straight in the eyes.

“No. Ace is not in control of the majority of the Inhabitants. The ones that have been attacking us have not been doing so under his command.” Thatch looked around at every face in the room, keeping his expression dead serious. They had to understand that this was the absolute truth. That the things that happened weren’t Ace’s fault. He watched some tension leave the room, and Izou gave a soft sigh.

“Good.” Silence fell for a few moments.

“…What happened to him, exactly?” Vista finally asked. “I mean…we’re loosely aware…but what is Wonderland, really? And what pushed him into it? Serpent’s been a little…tight-lipped. So much so we haven’t even _seen_ her for the last few days.” Thatch bit his lip, looking down.

“…A lot of it isn’t…within my rights to share without Ace’s permission. And I can only assume based on Serpent’s silence that Ace isn’t intent on sharing. But I can tell you a little more about Wonderland, and Ace’s current condition.” Thatch took a deep breath.

“Wonderland is a fantasy world Ace has created for himself as an escape from reality. But when you’re in it…it doesn’t feel like a fantasy. It feels real. It’s essentially…an alternate reality for Ace. He perceives it to be equally valid as this reality. There’s a whole host of beings down there – the Inhabitants – and each represents a separate facet of Ace’s personality. There’s Hatter, who represents logic, Caterpillar, who represents creativity, Queen, who represents violence, deceit, et cetera and the capacity for it, and a lot of others…those three are some of the most powerful right now. But there’s also Mr. Savage, an unidentified Inhabitant who represents Ace’s fear. He’s the most powerful.” ( **It’s almost laughable how much you still don’t understand.** ) “It’s a lot more complicated than that, but that’s the basics. Ace is in a…well, I assume some kind of fortified location within Wonderland to keep him safe from Mr. Savage. It’s why he’s unconscious.” Thatch could practically _see_ the questions in his siblings’ face, but all were silent, seemingly unsure of where to start.

“…When you say ‘powerful’, what do you mean?” Izou asked.

“Power, in Wonderland, is measured in the amount of sway each Inhabitant has over Ace’s behavior and choices. So when I say Mr. Savage is the most powerful right now, I mean that almost every action Ace has taken – at least this 10-year-old Ace – has largely been based in various fears. Fear of consequences, fear of pain, fear of captivity…you name it, Mr. Savage probably screams at him about it.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“…Not really. How do you fight fear? All we can do is try to be supportive, welcoming, and show him that we’re not a threat. That there _is_ no threat.”

“Why is he scared of _us?”_ Haruta murmured, clearly mostly rhetorical. Her eyes were sad. “We’re his _family_ , all we want is for him to be happy…”

“He doesn’t remember that.” Thatch’s voice was soft. “And after the hell he’s been through trusting strangers isn’t even really a _possibility_ , much less _easy_.”

Silence fell again for a long time.

“I have a question.” Thatch’s eyes snapped to Jozu. He’d thought he was unconscious from all the blood he’d lost. Jozu’s eyes were still closed as he spoke. He swallowed, and his voice sounded somewhat wrung out. “I know you said you wouldn’t get into the details of Ace’s past but…” Jozu’s breath seemed to catch. “…Can you tell me what I did wrong? What I did that upset him so much? It’s…It’s my fault he went back there in the first place. It’s _all_ my fault. Everything that’s happened, everything that’s gone wrong…it’s all on _me._ So please, Thatch…tell me what I did wrong. Please. So I can try to fix it.” Thatch was silent for a long moment, choosing his words carefully, running over Ace’s memories of being chased aboard the Moby Dick. His jaw tightened. This was private. This was undoubtedly something Ace had to choose to share for himself. But…Jozu needed something. That much was obvious.

“…I can’t…I can’t say specifically. But…you unintentionally…reenacted one of the single worst moments in Ace’s life.” He bit his lip. This was the cruel part, but Jozu deserved to know. “…10-year-old Ace probably won’t forgive you for it.” He practically watched Jozu’s heart shatter. “But _when_ we find a way to get Ace back to his actual age, I think you guys can work it out,” Thatch finished. That wasn’t a fact, but from how well adjusted Ace had seemed since joining the crew (excluding this stint as a child) and how much his family meant to him, Thatch was fairly certain he’d be willing to forgive.

“Why did this have to happen? It…It’s not _fair!_ He’s just a _kid!”_ That was Selma. She had her back turned to the majority of the room, but her shoulders were trembling lightly. Thatch’s expression darkened.

“Ask Edward Hare.”

 

* * *

Getting out of the Red Palace turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than getting in.

It was only after extensive searching of the entire area Queen had left them access to that they discovered another door behind the drapery surrounding the throne. The handle was somewhat inset, and the door painted a similar color to the marble so it was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall in the dim lighting behind the curtains.

The door, disconcertingly, didn’t lead to a corridor or even a staircase (they were on the second floor, after all, though with the height of the grand staircase in the entrance hall, they had to be at least three storeys off the ground, but rather right out onto a flat, grassy plain.

At this point, Marco didn’t even bother to comment on the surreality.

They walked in silence, reaching the wordless consensus that progress was the most important thing now.

After a long while, Marco glanced sideways at Whitebeard. He looked preoccupied. Distracted.

“…Stop it,” Marco said quietly. “You’re worrying. You’re distracted. You can’t fight like this.” An unnatural silence had descended over this perfect, seemingly endless field. The grass was seamlessly ideal, each blade vibrant, healthy green. Random buildings or pieces of buildings or furniture were strewn arbitrarily. They seemed to serve no purpose, and nothing stirred within or near them. The sky was white. Not with clouds, just rather…like canvas that hadn’t been filled in. There was no discernable light source, and no shadows. Intelligent design was clearly fading. They were getting closer.

Whitebeard sighed. “I know that in theory. But…I’m worried about Queen. Being on the Moby.” Marco’s eyes had moved forward again.

“And rightly so. Queen’s dangerous. And believe me – if there was any way to do it, I’d have gone up there to fight with the others against him. But there isn’t. This is the only definite way out of Wonderland – getting Ace to send us out. Fighting Mr. Savage and getting Ace back is our way out, and if Ace wakes up it’s possible-” **definite** “-that any Inhabitant currently materialized on the ship will be dragged back into Ace’s mind. This is our only way to help them right now. So I need you to focus on this now, okay? The rest comes later.” Whitebeard sighed again, but seemed to square his shoulders.

“You’re right.” He smiled faintly. “Like always. Sorry, it’s just…hard. To _not_ worry, you know?” The atmosphere of the place had descended into their very bones, the silence lending tension, clipping their sentences. Whitebeard’s eyes flicked to Marco for a second. “Thanks.” Marco smiled faintly.

“No problem, Oyaji.”

They fell silent again. Grass, buildings, half-buildings, random pieces of architecture, objects, and furniture all passed by, mundane, patternless, but somehow…repeating. They seemed to see the same objects and pieces of buildings over and over, though not arranged in the same way. It was like there were only a limited number of different things and the placer didn’t care that they were repeating, like the landscape was just filled for the sake of being filled, no actual design or careful placement about it, objects strewn to give the illusion of creation, habitation, normalcy.

The silence was complete.

Marco expected something to jump out at any moment. _Wanted_ something to, at this point, just to end the tension.

They passed under a half-formed gothic arch, an unrelated chunk of cement with large protruding pieces of rebar lying a few feet away.

“…I was wondering when you’d get here.”

The voice was smooth, unconcerned, yet sounded almost satisfied.

Whitebeard stopped in his tracks, eyes fixing on the source of the sound. He was sure his shock showed in his expression, despite his best efforts to conceal it. Of all possible outcomes, he hadn’t expected this one. It just…didn’t make _sense._ He glanced at Marco out of the corner of his eye. Marco wore his usual seemingly bored expression, but his mouth turned down slightly at one end.

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be.” He turned, his grin becoming visible for the first time. “Welcome to harsh reality, children. There are _no_ surprises here.” Whitebeard peripherally saw Marco take up a fighting stance. Mr. Savage laughed.

“Come now, no time for cordiality? You must have questions. I didn’t give you a chance to ask them before, but we have time now. So, before this ends the way we all know it will, please let me give you the information that you’re lacking.” Mr. Savage’s voice hadn’t shifted from that amused, relaxed tone, and his grin remained as powerful as the day Whitebeard had first seen it.

“…Why?” Whitebeard finally managed to ask. “Why would you-“

“Appear friend only to turn enemy? Why would I advise Ace during his first trip? Why would I wait so long before trying to get what I want?” The grin seemed to almost widen, if possible. “Because I had to unmake Dormouse somehow.” The voice was smug, the edge of a laugh in it. “With every Inhabitant I unmake, I get stronger. Every facet of Ace that’s swallowed by fear makes me that much more powerful. I’ll eat them all one day, and then, _then_ I’ll get what I want. Every new thing that Ace becomes afraid of is my victories in this war. Ace needed a traitor so that he’d no longer have friends. Everything wrong in this world is rooted in fear. Frustration. Failure. Betrayal. Anger. Tragedy. I am the harbinger.”

“You won’t win. You _won’t_. Ace learns to deal with you. Ace learns to trust again, to hope again, to be _happy_ again. You’ll _never-“_ Mr. Savage laughed, loud, long, and mocking.

“You’re so _stupid_ , Oyaji. Did you already forget? This is the Wonderland of _now,_ not just 10 years ago! I _don’t_ just go away! You’d see me everywhere, if you’d care to look! Or are you too dumb? Maybe Marco isn’t.” He shifted his gaze off of Whitebeard. “Well little phoenix? Do you see me in your brother?”

Marco was silent, face as unchanging as stone. Mr. Savage shook his head, victory in his voice and eyes.

“I’m _still_ in every decision he makes. I’ve been in some of the most meaningful decisions.”

“You’re lying.” Mr. Savage raised his eyebrows.

“No, I’m not. Denial doesn’t look good on you, Oyaji.”

“ _Prove-“_

“Ace never sleeps on his stomach.” Mr. Savage looked smug. Whitebeard froze, considering it. “Selma was the last person he befriended on your ship.” Whitebeard opened his mouth to speak but Mr. Savage continued, cutting him off. “He has a private, hidden room on your ship because he doesn’t like to be asleep – as much as he can help – around other people.”

“You-“

“He kept fighting you over and over and over because he thought you were trying to contain him, or going to contain him. He feared manipulation. He didn’t sleep for his first 2 weeks on your ship because he was sure he’d wake up in shackles. He kept getting up and fighting you _knowing_ he’d never win because he would rather have you kill him in combat than ever be imprisoned again. He was _hoping_ you’d kill him. That was the closest I’d come to winning this game in years.”

“I don’t-“

“ _The placement of your mark on his body,”_ Mr. Savage interrupted. His voice almost echoed with glee, like he could see the pain in Whitebeard’s chest. “On his back. Large. Unmistakable. Not even the stylized version some of your sons have, the full, all-known symbol of the Whitebeard pirates. _It’s meant as a last line of defense._ A last ‘Keep Off the Grass’ if Ace was ever unable to defend himself again.”

Whitebeard stared at Mr. Savage, totally speechless. Stunned. He was dimly aware of his heart falling to pieces, but was too dazed to even think. Ace was really still this scared? There was still this much _fear_ in his life? Whitebeard felt unremitting pity for him. Not condescending pity, or demeaning pity, just the well of deep, sympathetic sorrow, and a desire so strong it was almost a compulsion to make it better.

“Tell me, do you think Ace weak for fearing Edward Hare so much, even still?”

The answer was no, but Whitebeard couldn’t muster a response.

“If you do, you’re absurd. The fear of pain is in every single living thing. It’s an inherent part of being alive. Even _you_ fear pain because that’s just how your brain is wired. Pain exists at all for living things _to_ fear it, it is the greatest teacher. Show me someone who says they don’t fear pain. I will break their legs and ask them to walk. They’ll say no. Why? Because they fear pain, even if they don’t consciously realize it. I would like you to show me a person who could endure what Ace has and _not_ be afraid of the inflictor. There is no living being that is even capable of standing up to that challenge. The fear of pain is a primitive fear all right, but the cruelest of all, inescapable and omnipotent.” His grin seemed to stretch even further. “So here’s the kicker: the fear that composes me that frightens you so much you want to destroy me isn’t evil.” Mr. Savage’s voice went smug once more. “It’s _normal._ Everybody in this world is afraid of something. Even you. Fear makes no exceptions.”

“I have a question.” Marco’s voice was cold. Mr. Savage’s gaze shifted to him.

“Oh?” Marco looked up at him, eyes as hard as steel.

“Which name would you like on your grave, Mr. Savage or White Rabbit?” Mr. Savage grinned, one long, twisted ear twitching, a sore on his chin splitting open and leaking putrid brown disease down his neck.

“Don’t worry about that, that won’t be necessary for the outcome of this.”

Mr. Savage’s posture was still relaxed, his hands loose and uncurled at his sides, when Marco charged. Mr. Savage watched him cross the first section of the field that separated them disinterestedly.

“Shall I tell you something interesting?” Whitebeard had snapped out of it by now, launching forward as well, but slightly to the right, trying to get the Rabbit fighting on two fronts at once. Marco was going to get there first as he’d started running first and was faster, but Whitebeard would catch up quickly. Marco was closing in, maybe 20 feet away. The White Rabbit withdrew his gold pocket watch – _tick tick tick –_ from his pocket, clicking it open and studying it unconcernedly.

“You’re both afraid of me. It doesn’t matter why, even if it’s only in regards to Ace’s mental health.” Mr. Savage’s grin was as wide as death, his gaze fixed on the watch. “I’m not afraid of you. But you’re _very_ afraid of me. Do you know what that means?” Marco was beside him now, one leg raised to kick him in the back, moving so fast he was nothing more than a blur.

Mr. Savage shut the pocket watch with one hand, the other stopping Marco’s leg where it was, grip unyielding around his ankle. He grinned sidelong at Marco, who was staring at him, eyes wide. _“It means I’ve already won.”_

He threw Marco all the way back across the field he’d just crossed, his back colliding debilitatingly hard with the stone archway they’d passed under. Whitebeard skidded to a stop.

“Marco!” He’d turned instinctively, concern for his son outweighing rational thought. Marco slid down the arch, slumping at its base. He was breathing unevenly, jaw clenched in pain. He tried to push himself up only to collapse back. Mr. Savage wiped his white, gloved hands together, as if brushing off dirt.

“There we go. That’s much better. That suffocating feeling you have now? That’s fear.”

Marco finally managed to force himself to his feet, leaning against the stone for a moment before rising to stand unaided. Whitebeard was still watching him concernedly, Mr. Savage having made no move that demanded his immediate attention more than his possibly injured child.

**You’re going to lose this fight. Even if the two of you were in perfect condition – which you’re not after fighting Queen, Oyaji probably can’t hit something with even half his usual strength – there’s no way you could defeat him unarmed and without your powers. It’s a real pain in the ass you didn’t tell Ace more about yourself, you know. If he perceived you as you actually are things might be different. You’re going to lose.**

“Just because I’m afraid doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fighting,” Marco said, addressed to both the voice in his head and the figure across the field. Mr. Savage grinned at him. **Don’t be an imbecile. You’re going to _lose_.**

“Oyaji.” Whitebeard was still looking at him, eyes searching for any obvious injury. “We’ll attack together.” **IDIOT-**

Marco was already heading across the field again as fast as he could manage, ignoring the shooting pain throughout his entire torso. Whitebeard began the charge again as well, attention back on Mr. Savage. He grinned at them, remorseless and removed.

He still didn’t move.

Whitebeard and Marco reached him simultaneously, both poised to attack. Time seemed to slow. Marco had leapt into the air, adding his bodyweight to a swinging kick aimed at Mr. Savage’s lower spine. Whitebeard’s fist was directed at Mr. Savage’s chest, ready to catch him on the blow after Marco’s kick landed. The force of it would have pulverized any normal human’s ribcage irreparably.

At the last possible moment, Rabbit spun aside, Marco’s attack brushing harmlessly through the tails of his jacket. He darted just behind Marco, grabbing a fistful of his hair, dragging him down until he nearly overbalanced. Whitebeard had pulled back his original attack, and now moved again, trying to land a blow while Mr. Savage was distracted by Marco.

The Rabbit ducked easily under the blow, close enough that the displaced air ruffled against his ears. He spun once more, gaining momentum, and the arm – disproportionately long even though Mr. Savage stood over 9 feet tall – not gripping Marco’s hair slammed into Whitebeard hard enough to launch him across the field, the elegant slimness of the limb having no effect on the impossible force of the blow.

“Oyaji!” Marco’s voice was slightly strained. Mr. Savage shifted his attention back to him, grin as wide, victorious, and hideous as ever.

“Please, don’t think of yourselves as useless, despite your performance in this battle. You’re actually serving a centrally important role. You’re teaching Ace that nobody can save him. Congratulations, you’ve brought me one step closer to winning.”

He threw Marco again, this time his aim slightly different. This time, Marco collided with the block of cement.

Whitebeard groaned, feeling the familiar stabbing ache of broken ribs. He sat up slowly, face a grimace of pain, one hand over the more painful side. Mr. Savage made no move to approach, just standing there, waiting, infuriatingly waiting. So confident in his victory he had no need to hurry it along. Whitebeard felt his jaw tighten in anger.

“Marco, you ready?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet, preparing to attack again. He tested the leg that’d been under him when he landed, pleased to find it would still support his weight. He waited another beat. “…Marco?” Whitebeard turned to look for where he’d landed. It would really suck if Marco had been knocked unconscio-

Whitebeard’s eyes widened and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

Marco was bent awkwardly over the chunk, his back curved to accommodate its shape. His breath came in tiny gasps, face turned upwards, towards the sky.

The lengths of rebar embedded in the cement protruded gruesomely from his chest.

Blood seeped down the stone, rivulets of it running down Marco’s chest and out from under his back. Already his shirt was striped with deep crimson. His breathing was tight, labored with pain and broken from the indubitable wounds to his lungs. A tiny thread of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, each breath almost seeming to gurgle slightly.

Sheer dread made Whitebeard feel as if every drop of blood in his body had simultaneously evaporated.

Marco turned his head slightly so he was looking at Whitebeard. He seemed to be trying to speak, his mouth moving slightly, but he couldn’t get enough air to actually manage sound. Whitebeard felt paralyzed, frozen. He couldn’t look away, despite the horror. He felt as if the wounds were his own, his heart was in so much pain.

Marco was one of the few children he’d been _sure_ he’d never have to watch die.

Marco seemed to give up on attempting to speak, his mouth stilling. Whitebeard saw him struggle to swallow. He felt his heart break more. Marco stared at him, eyes firm, clear. For now. Bright with pain, but still focused. There was still a little more time.

Whitebeard knelt by his side, looking Marco in the face.

“How did you do it?” he asked sharply, voice colored with fear and desperation. “How’d you wake Thatch up?” Marco minutely smiled – almost a grimace of pain – and shook his head slightly.

“He already knows the trick. It won’t work on him. He’s too logical, and he won’t forget that it is, in fact, untrue. Sorry pops, try again,” Rabbit said, voice tinged with glee like he was watching something deeply entertaining. “Tick tick tick better hurry he’s dying real fast!” Rabbit said, voice almost childish, and ending in giggling. Whitebeard looked back to Marco, desperation rising. His mind raced, searching for a solution.

“…Metamorphosis! You can heal yourself using that, can’t you?!” Mr. Savage’s giggling restarted.

“Nope, not here. If this were Ace’s physical brain, we’d be pretty well into brain stem territory. That’s the part that does all the really important, subconscious stuff like keeping his heart beating. Foreign will strong enough to heal something like that would irrevocably fuck Ace up. Would it be possible for Marco to do it? Sure. But that leaves you with a choice.” Mr. Savage’s grin was manic, insane, wider than time. “Which son will you save?” Whitebeard felt his stomach twist.

“You have the choice now, Oyaji. Break Marco’s neck to prevent him from using Metamorphosis to fuck up Ace, or let him heal and await Ace’s inevitable shutdown?” Mr. Savage continued, the edge of a laugh in his voice.

Whitebeard was dimly aware he was trembling. He stared at the ground, too stunned, horrified, and alone to even begin to process Mr. Savage’s question. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel fear beginning to simplify his thought process. His heart ached fiercely.

He felt something brush against his arm delicately, almost unnoticeable, but instantly his head snapped up, eyes settling back on Marco.

Marco had forced all pain off his face, and his eyes were singularly focused, clear, and his expression was determined. His breathing was even fainter now. If Whitebeard focused solely on his face and ignored the blood around his mouth, he could almost imagine it wasn’t happening. Could almost imagine the grievous injury wasn’t real.

Could almost pretend Marco wasn’t dying.

Marco stared straight into his eyes, keeping Whitebeard’s gaze locked on his face alone, his eyes stuck in the familiar cyan. Deliberately, though with all the blood he’d lost by now even this movement would have been taxing, Marco moved his mouth again, forming a single word, though he didn’t have the air to give it sound.

Whitebeard stared at Marco, eyes wide. Marco stared back, eyes firm, strong, unafraid. Whitebeard knew he hadn’t feared death for a long time. He swallowed, hands curling into fists. “…There’s a third option,” he murmured. Mr. Savage blinked, cocking his head.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it over Marco choking on his own blood.” Whitebeard stared into Marco’s eyes for another moment, aware and terrified of the fact that this could be the last time he’d ever see those eyes clear with life. It all hung on him now. Marco gave the tiniest of nods, and Whitebeard forced himself to stand, turning away and towards Mr. Savage. New conviction straightened his shoulders and hardened his face.

“I _said,”_ Whitebeard’s voice was hard with focus and deadly intent, “there’s a third option.” He allowed a small smile to bend his mouth. “If I kill you, I can get to Ace, get him to wake us up. I can do that. And I can do it before Marco dies. And _when_ he wakes up with Ace and I the injury will be nothing more than a nightmare. And _that_ is the option I choose.” Whitebeard took up a battle stance, ready to fight for what he wanted.

Mr. Savage chuckled faintly. “That’s all very well. But you’re still scared. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you hold yourself.” His eyes seemed to widen even further, grotesque and strange. “But you’re having a hard time believing yourself and I can tell!

“Marco’s done something cruel, hasn’t he? And he doesn’t even realize it. By dying so tragically, he’s left it all up to you. But is that truly a kindness? He’s left you the fear of failure. But that isn’t all, is it? There’s the fear of death – both his and your own – too. The fear of loneliness, we can’t forget that… Simple. Childish. Plain. But fear isn’t boring, and these terrors are cruel nonetheless. Besides…they’re effective enough against someone like you.” His face was bleeding slowly, and in one jerk, he snapped his head horrifically sideways.

“You can let it all go now, that’s enough. Let death carry you away and you’ll be free from all fear and pain. Let go and everything you feel now will evaporate. There’s nothing more you can do here. Your friends have fallen. Your plan failed. There’s no _point_ in continuing now. You couldn’t win against me with help; you won’t stand a chance alone. Everything you’ve done was for nothing. You have no companions to stand beside you. Your body is weak, bruised, beaten. There’s _nothing_ you can do not to defeat me. You have _nothing left.”_ Whitebeard felt his fists clench tighter. He wouldn’t let himself contemplate the truth of Rabbit’s words. This was his _only option;_ he’d do whatever it took to see it to conclusion. He _must_ win.

Whitebeard began to walk forward, further out into the field, approaching Mr. Savage.

“I won’t despair. And my fear doesn’t cripple me. It makes me stronger.” His jaw clenched. “And you’ve left me no other options. They say the cornered cat will bite.” An ironic glint entered Mr. Savage’s eyes.

“’I say shoot the cat.’” He widened his stance slightly, preparing for Whitebeard’s attack. Whitebeard continued at his steady, grim march. It’d be different this ti-

Whitebeard stopped, an odd sensation first in his back, then his chest.

It was when he saw _Mr. Savage’s_ face assume one of utter shock that he knew something was really wrong.

He looked down, not really sure what he was expecting to see causing the strange sensation in his torso. For some reason, all sense of urgency, all thought in general had faded from his mind.

A hand, drenched pure red in his blood, protruded from the near center of his chest.

“That’s not possible. That’s _not possible!”_ Mr. Savage hissed from his place across the field. He still looked stunned, but there was something else growing in his eyes. Whitebeard turned his head slowly, trying to see who had impaled him. His brain still hadn’t caught up enough for him to feel the pain or fear he should have.

Marco stared back up at him, arm embedded into Whitebeard’s back up to the shoulder.

His face was contorted horribly. One half was broken with shock, horror, terror, and utter helplessness. Tears streamed down from this widened, terrified cyan eye, and Whitebeard could see utter heartbreak and despair in this expression.

The other half was grinning.

The mouth was bent almost past human capacity, horrible, wide, unnatural. The eye was widened as well, almost perfectly round, a ring of white surrounding the ice-blue iris. It was the arm on this side that impaled Whitebeard. The eye was remorseless. Unafraid. Unrepentant. Hideously jovial, uncaring, entirely detached from the severity of the situation.

“Sorry, Oyaji,” he said. The words were garbled, almost incomprehensible, only the grinning half of the face moving to pronounce them. “But it’s time for you to wake up.”

In one fluid motion, the arm was ripped out of his chest.

Whitebeard collapsed, feeling hot blood beginning to gush out of the ragged, grisly injury. He wouldn’t live more than another minute or two and he knew it. Pain began to radiate through his whole body, his brain finally kicking back into gear. _Why?_ he found himself asking over and over. Marco strode past him, and Whitebeard watched him from the ground.

Blood still drenched his shirt, but the impalement injury was gone.

_“That’s not possible! You COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT!”_ Mr. Savage shrieked. Whitebeard couldn’t see it, Marco’s back was to him, but he could imagine the grin tearing his face.

“As I recall, you yourself said only _foreign_ haki would break Ace’s mind. So my Metamorphosis didn’t hurt anything, And by the way, don’t even try to touch Oyaji. I’m sending him back upstairs when he unlives. Just like I did with Thatch. Hands off.”

“Who are you?!” Rabbit seemed to have caught on. “When did you bleed on him?!” Whitebeard, for all that his senses were already fading, dark beginning to nip at the edges of his vision, understood.

An Inhabitant was controlling Marco.

He laughed, the sound loud, strange, and definitely not belonging in Marco’s usually stoic voice. “Why do you even bother asking questions? You know I won’t answer. Tell me, did it piss you off when you realized even you have to grin like me?” Whitebeard was getting cold. He couldn’t feel the texture of the grass against his skin any longer. Mr. Savage didn’t respond. “And does it piss you off that you still don’t understand why you aren’t getting any stronger?” Whitebeard’s eyes were beginning to fall closed, but he could see Marco was almost to Mr. Savage, who had begun taking hesitant, frightened steps backwards. He could hear the hideous grin in the voice, the speech clear now, and Whitebeard knew it was no part of Marco talking.

“Stay back!” Mr. Savage shouted, stumbling back. “Wh-What’s the point in destroying me?! Fear won’t disappear just because I’m gone!” Marco’s voice was triumphant, full of savage glee.

“I’m counting on it. Despite your performance in this battle, please don’t think yourself useless. You’re actually serving quite an important purpose.” Whitebeard was fading away entirely. He couldn't see anymore, but could picture Marco, practically on top of the fleeing Mr. Savage, voice viciously mirthful, patronizing, as he quoted the Rabbit’s earlier words. The last thing he heard was in Marco’s voice, spoken, disturbingly, equally coldly and gleefully.

“There will be only one King of Wonderland, one winner of the _real_ Caucus Race. And we both know it won’t be you.”

* * *

Whitebeard slammed awake, gasping, one hand flying to his chest. He breathed heavily, unevenly, practically gasping. He felt disoriented, like he couldn’t quite remember where he was or which way was down. The infirmary’s occupants all snapped their attention to him, faces expressing surprise at his sudden revitalization.

Whitebeard’s eyes shot to Marco’s prone, still form.

“Oya-“ Haruta started, taking a hopeful, surprised step towards him.

The door to the infirmary slammed open so hard it collided with the wall, the bang almost echoing even in the small room. A shape moved through it so fast it was a blur, almost knocking Selma over as it rushed past. It leapt up onto Marco’s bed, crouching over his body.

_Ace?!_ The figure wore all black, from the thin, long-sleeved shirt to the loose cargo pants. The same freckles speckled the same face, the same hair in the same disarray covering his head.

But Ace was still unconscious in a bed a few feet away.

The strangely Ace-but-not-Ace raised their hand above their head, straddling Marco’s chest, glaring venomously into his face. They brought it down hard and fast, the open palm striking against Marco’s face loudly, hard enough to turn his head. The Ace-not-Ace was practically snarling down at Marco, eyes almost glowing with fury, looking almost like emeralds-

“GIVE HIM BACK,” another slap, this time from the other hand, “GIVE HIM BACK NOW” **_SMACK_** “STOP IT” **_SMACK_** “GIVE HIM BACK” **_SMACK_** “YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM” **_SMACK_** “WE NEED HIM-“ Whitebeard felt his heart freeze in his chest. The others were beginning to react now, respond to the situation. Thatch moved towards Marco and the Ace-not-Ace.

“Hey, _cut it ou-“_

“Don’t,” Whitebeard commanded. Thatch automatically, instantly froze, but turned to look at Whitebeard, confused.

“Oyaji?!” Whitebeard looked only at Thatch, knowing he was the only one who’d understand the gravity of the situation. The slapping continued as percussion, background noise, an almost perfectly even tempo.

“There’s an Inhabitant controlling Marco.” Whitebeard’s voice was grim, sure, but the words still tasted false, like they couldn’t possibly be true. Thatch went pale, his eyes widening slightly.

“Shit,” he murmured breathlessly. “Which one?! How?! For how long?! What’d he do?!” The questions came in a rush. He paused, however, seeming to go almost paler in realization. “…Wait…no…I think…” Memories replayed through his head. There was a rustle of movement, faint and unheeded by the room, drowned out by the slapping. “…I think…Marco _knew._ He _knew_ there was an Inhabitant in him,” the words were coming faster now, rising with the tide of understanding. The room was strangely silent now, save for the conversation. The tempo had stopped.“He tried to _tell me!_ Back in Caterpillar’s domain, he said, he _said_ we couldn’t bring him out-“ Thatch cut himself off, eyes snapping to Whitebeard. His expression was filled with surprise and a kind of…not quite fear, but definite wariness.

“He said we shouldn’t bring Ace out eith-“

“Is there a problem?”

Ace stood, one hand clasped around the wrist of his practical clone, keeping the next blow from landing on Marco’s face. He stared out evenly at Thatch and Whitebeard, eyes placid. Beneath him, Marco was blinking blearily and groaned faintly, as if looking into a particularly harsh light or as if he had a singularly bad headache. His clone was staring at him, watching him, expression unreadable. Ace’s face was as smooth as a doll’s, his eyes calm and almost unsettlingly focused.

He was smiling faintly.  



	49. Chapter 49

The room hung, seeming suspended on some invisible thread, being held outside the normal flow of time. Marco looked like he was still fighting to get his eyes to work right, the Other Ace was staring at Ace – who still held their wrist – with an expression that seemed…concerned? Ace, contrarily, was focused solely on Whitebeard and Thatch. But no, that wasn’t quite right.

His eyes were locked on Thatch and Thatch alone.

The smile was small, placid, a mere quirk at the edges. It didn’t touch his eyes, though, which focused so singularly, so intently it was almost unnatural. The room was dead silent, Ace’s question hanging in that space like a corpse.

Time didn’t seem to stretch, but the silence expanded. Cloying, like the stench of overripe fruit.

“…Ace?” The Other Ace was the first to speak, voice quiet, barely above a murmur, and fragile, unsure.

The thread snapped. Time resumed.

Ace turned to them, dropping their wrist, expression shifting to one of complete bafflement. “What’ve you done to yourself, Serpent? And _how?_ ” He looked her up and down, tilting his head slightly, eyes almost analytical, trying to deduce the answers. Other Ace – Serpent – sighed.

“Your haki was kind of tossing itself around. I thought diverting some of it might be a good way to keep it from doing anything destructive. I wasn’t exactly expecting… _this_ result, though.” She gestured to her human, 10-year-old form. “…I suppose it’s actually good, though. We still don’t know where Hare is,” at the mention of the name, color seemed to almost instantly drain from Ace’s face and he twitched – _flinched_ , “and having a double makes it less likely that even if he managed to find us or separate us from the crew that he’d be able to take you back.” Ace seemed to barely have heard, his face still pale, a minute trembling barely visible in his hands.

“…Y-Yeah. I…guess you’re right.”

“Ace, you-“ At Selma’s words, Ace jumped and spun, like she had snuck up on him. To be honest, he hadn’t noticed the other occupants of the room until now.

His eyes widened, no longer focused on Selma.

He stumbled back a few steps, going – if possible – even paler. “Stay away from me,” he whispered, seemingly too stunned to speak any louder. _“Stay the fuck away!”_ Now his voice was louder, between speech and shout. His breathing had quickened, now nearing terrified panting. He continued to back away, only stopping when his back met the wall.

Jozu stared back, face bent with hurt, grief, and guilt.

“…All right,” he murmured. He stood – Ace flinched, trying to press himself further back into the wall – and walked out of the room, eyes cast to the floor, moving at a non-threatening walk. He didn’t look back or hesitate as he passed through the threshold.

“You did well,” the White Rabbit said, resting one hand on Ace’s shoulder, which still shook slightly. “You can’t trust these people. You don’t know them. They’re strangers. Hare was on this ship. They did nothing. Clearly he was meant to be there, which means they must be allies or comrades. You can’t trust them. You can’t even stay here. Flee. Don't trust them. They hate you. They’re going to hurt you.” Whitebeard and Thatch stared at the Rabbit in unhidden shock. _What the fuck?! What the fuck is he doing here?_ Thatch thought. The Rabbit turned to face him, massive grin firmly in place.

“Hello, Thatch. We didn’t get to meet during your visit. As Whitebeard is about to tell you, I’m Mr. Savage. In answer to your question, I’m doing my job. Advising Ace on how to proceed.”

“Ace, don’t listen to him. That information is now several weeks old, based on how long you were in Wonderland. You need new data to form a conclusion. The most recent facts you have now are that your injuries are freshly dressed and there are no new ones. Consider that before entirely distrusting those on this ship,” Hatter said, leaning in from the doorway Jozu had left through. “Ask questions. We need more information before we can make any kind of decision. Whitebeard is the captain. He can get whatever information he wants, and based on his behavior in Wonderland he’s proven trustworthy, wouldn’t you say? He’ll answer your questions. However, I’d recommend asking this doctor first. She seems to be the only one with medical expertise on this ship, ergo she was the one that redressed your wounds. You can probably trust her.”

“Still,” Queen said, reclining on one of the cots, picking at a fingernail, axe leaning against the wall, “if she tries to turn it around on you and ask _you_ questions, lie. We can’t be sure of anyone’s motives. It’d be best to keep our own information to ourselves.” Whitebeard, Marco, and Thatch all stared between the three Inhabitants. Queen smiled sardonically, lifting one hand in a lazy wave.

“Yo,” he said. He smirked, eyes landing on Thatch. “How’re those guts feeling? Better?”

Selma and Haruta didn’t react at all, neither seeing nor hearing the Inhabitants present in the room.

“I don’t understand…” Ace said, eyes focused now on Selma. His voice was somewhat breathy. “I don’t understand anything. Why am I here? How did I get here? How did you all know me? _Why was Edward Hare on this ship?!”_

Selma and Haruta exchanged a glance, then Selma looked to Whitebeard, who nodded. “Well…why you’re _here_ here – as in on this ship – is because we want to protect you, and we know this is the safest possible place for you. Why you’re here in the Grand Line…well, we’re not quite as sure on that one. We don’t really know much about how you got here either. As for how we know you, well…” she trailed off, looking unsure of how exactly to proceed.

“Shanks told us about you. He bragged about you and Luffy like you were his own sons. He told us a bit about what you looked like,” Whitebeard supplied. “Thatch was the one who found you, so I’d assume it was just a guess on his part. He doesn’t exactly know a lot of kids, so you were one of the few names he could actually guess that’d be age appropriate.” Queen was giving him a flat look. _If you’re not careful he’s going to figure it out. You have to lie better than that, old man,_ he said, directly into Whitebeard’s mind. He then went back to picking at his nail, disinterested. Selma’s eyes, which had focused on Whitebeard, shifted back to Ace.

“R-Right. As for why Hare was on this ship, well…” she bit her lip, looking down. “…I’m not going to lie to you, Ace.” She looked back up, meeting his eyes. She took a deep breath. “…He was our ally.” Ace felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head.

“Told you told you _TOLD YOU!”_ Mr. Savage cheered.

“She used the _past tense,”_ Hatter insisted.

“Oh, the party’s in here?” A new, familiar voice said. The Duchness walked through the door, smiling. They cast their eyes over the room’s occupants.

“Yeah, but nobody fuckin’ invited you, _whore,”_ Queen snarled, sitting up more, looking like he was actually considering getting up to attack them. Ace’s eyes flicked between Queen and Duchness, momentarily distracted. The Duchness smiled seemly.

“Dirty talk isn’t really my kink, and I don’t like infantile, petulant _children_.” The Duchness swept a hand through their hair. “Maybe if you weren’t such a weak, pathetic little boy I’d find you more attractive and less unthreateningly obnoxious.” At this Queen did stand, grabbing his axe.

“You fucking bitch, you wanna go?”

“Hare was our ally, but he lied to us. We didn’t know what kind of person he was,” Selma was talking again, and Ace was trying to focus on that.

“Nah, I’m a lover, not a fighter! Besides, beating up kids is for monsters.”

_“I’m not a kid and I swear I could unlive you in five seconds flat,”_ Queen snarled, volume rising. Ace frowned slightly, passing two fingers over his brow as if trying to wipe something away.

“After you ran away and we consequently found you and discovered your injuries and where they’d come from, it was too late. Hare was already long gone. But I swear to you if we’d known what he was really like we’d never have allied ourselves with him,” Selma said.

“Jeez, calm down! You’re certainly full of piss and vinegar!” the Duchness said. “I’m just playing!” They smiled again. “Don’t kids like to play pranks on each other?”

_“Oh that is fucking IT!”_ Queen snapped, hefting his axe and stalking towards the Duchness. The Duchness laughed lightly.

“Violence? How primitive! You’re really a joke, you know that Queen? I don’t think you’ve ever once actually taken off anyone of any consequence’s head. You’re playing house, but you just have delusions of grandeur and call yourself royalty!” Queen struck at the Duchness who danced out of the way, avoiding the blow by a breath. “And who the fuck are you to judge anyone, huh?” Another blow narrowly avoided. “Especially me! I haven’t even gotten to _do anything!”_ Ace rubbed at his forehead again, longer this time, and harder.

Selma sighed. “Now he’s gone, and we have no idea where. But I promise you, if we were ever to even sight his ship again, he’d be dead before-“

“What crime have I committed that you want to unlive me for anyway, huh? What kind of fucking _farce_ of justice are you playing at?!”

_“PISSING ME THE HELL OFF!”_ Queen roared. The Duchness laughed.

“Oh, so the moment someone questions your so-called ‘reign’ they’re instantly exe-“

“JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” Selma jolted at Ace’s outburst. Ace glared between the Duchness and Queen. “Both of you just fucking _shut it!_ _Can you not see I’m trying to do something more important than listen to you fight?!”_ he snarled. He stalked across the room, stopping before them. He turned to the Duchness first. “You. Get the hell out of here. There’s a whole _god damned ship_ you can put between you and Queen, _I do not ever want to find you in the same room as him again.”_ He spun, turning now to Queen. “As for you, Queen, you aren’t needed right now. If you could please locate yourself somewhere less _in the way_ that’d be _lovely_. And send Hatter back in, seeing as he’s actually fucking helpful! Now both of you, _GET OUT!”_ Ace finished. The Duchness merely shrugged, exiting the room and walking off down a hallway. Queen was more reluctant, snarling momentarily at Ace like he meant to retort before seeming to reconsider, spinning on his heel, scowling deeply, and stalking out of the room as well, noticeably in the opposite direction as the Duchness. Ace shut the door after them, sighing deeply. He leaned his forehead against the wood of the door, reveling in the silence.

“…Ace?” Haruta’s voice sounded borderline frightened. Quiet. Ace grit his teeth.

“Fuck it all,” he mumbled, pulling the door open and sprinting through it. He was dimly aware of calls for him to wait or come back, but he ignored them. Ignored the pain shooting through his legs. He just wanted to be alone. No questions, no Inhabitants, no _thinking._ Just quiet.

He was surprised how quickly he managed to find his way back to the room Thatch had shown him to, the one hidden in the wall.

* * *

“…So he still sees them?” Selma asked. The shock was still clear in her posture and expression.

“He didn’t in the flashbacks…” Thatch mumbled. “This is new. This didn’t happen before. In the past, he only ever saw the Inhabitants in times of extreme emotion, and only ever the White Rabbit.”

“It’s because he went back again,” Marco said. His face was still. “He shouldn’t have gone back. It reaffirmed the ‘reality’ of Wonderland, the identity and personalities of all these separate entities in his mind. Because they’re even realer to him now, they aren’t just voices in his head. They’re fully-fledged, non-stop hallucinations. And they’re directly influencing his behavior.” Selma’s eyes sharpened at this.

“’Directly influencing’? How directly? Do they seize control or just tell him what to do?” she asked, nearing urgency. Marco sighed, a shiver passing down his spine as he recalled his own experience.

“…For now, it’s through suggestion. Instruction. Each recommends different courses of action, and Ace picks one or a combination of several. But,” he allowed his eyes to open, focusing on Selma, “I know it’s possible for the Inhabitants to seize temporary control of a body. They haven’t tried it yet, but it may well be that they will.” Selma slumped, letting her head thump gently against the wall.

“…So it’s like a fucked up, schizophrenia plus dissociative identity disorder. It’s both. At once.” Selma already looked tired, just thinking about it. She sat heavily in a chair, propping her elbows on her knees and letting her head fall into her hands. She breathed deeply, allowing her eyes to fall shut. _You can do this. You can do this. You’re a doctor, for Christ’s sake. This is your job. He’s your brother and you’re going to help him._ Do it.“Okay,” she murmured to herself. “Okay.” Taking one more steadying breath, she lifted her head, looking back at Whitebeard, Marco, and Thatch. “The first thing – and this will be no easy task – will be convincing Ace of the illegitimacy of these identities. He’s become convinced he must be dependent on them for his own wellbeing, right? We need to show him that he _isn’t_. We need to start putting him in entire control of his own decisions again, so that he isn’t relying on the…what did you call them? ‘Inhabitants’? For anything. After that, we start unmaking each one, showing Ace that he himself is already complete without these alternate personalities. Even deconstructing _one_ of them could take…weeks. Months. Maybe even years. But it’s possible.” She looked between the three of them. “…How many ‘Inhabitants’ are there? And can you give me their personality traits? We’ll have to single out each ‘Inhabitant’ in order to break each one down-“

“I’d recommend strongly against what you’re suggesting, lady doctor.”

All eyes in the room instantly snapped to the door. It was open, and apparently had been for an indeterminate amount of time.

Ace stood in the doorway, staring smoothly at Selma.

He smiled faintly, moving his hand as if lifting an invisible hat from his head and holding it against his chest before bowing slightly. “Hello. My name is Hatter. Ace likes to call me mad when he doesn’t want to listen to me, but I’m the furthest possible thing from it.” Selma, too surprised to respond for a moment, stumbled over a response, simultaneously reaching for a notebook and pen. Thatch rose to his feet.

“What the fuck?” he asked. Because he could see it. He could see the top hat, the over-long fingers, could recognize the tone of voice. “What are you playing at, Hatter? Get out of him!” Ace’s face – wearing Hatter’s expression – turned to look at Thatch. He smiled coldly.

“Excuse me. I’m speaking with the doctor right now. I don’t recall ever addressing you,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, please don’t interrupt our conversation.” He turned his face back to Selma, the ice melting from his gaze. “It’s a pleasure to speak directly with you, miss doctor.”

“H-Hatter,” she stammered, maintaining eye contact with him as she flipped open the notebook. “I…I hadn’t expected to meet you this soon.” Ace moved, seemingly replacing the invisible hat atop his head and walking into the room, sitting primly on one of the cots. He stared intently at Selma.

“I’m glad you’re going to take notes. This is highly important material, and although the human mind is capable of much, it would be more than a shame if you lost this information due merely to faulty memorization.” Ace smiled again, faintly, politely. “Before we begin, allow me to establish some important facts. I represent Ace’s logic. His reasoning. I’m unemotional, analytical, and rational. Lying is a logical fallacy, and as such cannot even form in my partition of Ace’s mind. What I am about to tell you is the truth, is _only_ truth. I will tell you all that I can, but I cannot tell you everything. There are things that, if even spoken aloud, could cause irreparable damage. I will not speak of these things. I will, however, give you all the information you need to deduce these things on your own. Listen carefully and record as much of what I say word for word as you can. _Do not_ interrupt me. My time here is highly limited and this information is essential. You would not want to miss any due to any,” he looked pointedly at Thatch, “rude, pointless bumblings.” He turned his gaze back to Selma. “Do you understand?” Selma looked a little uncertain, not quite trusting the seeming ease of this information.

“He’s telling the truth,” Marco said. “We met him in Wonderland. He is Ace’s logic. He can’t lie. If you’re going to get information, you’ll want to get it from him.” Selma, still slightly unsettled but reassured by Marco’s words, nodded to him before turning her attention back to Ace.

“I understand,” she said. Ace – Hatter, right now – smiled politely again. “Very well then, let’s begin. The information I will be sharing will not be to your liking and I expect you’ll disbelieve me for your own emotional resentment of what I have to say, but it is truth. Record it, so that maybe someone else will believe and act accordingly.” He leaned forward, face going dead serious.

“You cannot, under any circumstances, ever try to destroy the Inhabitants or Wonderland.” He stared right into Selma’s face as he said it, eyes hard. He let this statement hang in the air, settle in. Selma’s expression had shifted from wary curiosity to mild animosity.

“Don’t be stupid. If Ace ever wants to be perfectly autonomous again, the Inhabitants and Wonderland have to go. Self-preservation-“ Selma said.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Hatter said, face still calm. “I don’t say this out of some misplaced desire to continue my own existence. I don’t fear unexistence. Truly, I am incapable of fearing anything. I am incapable of truly desiring anything, either. I can only assess the pros and cons of a situation based on the facts of that situation. Based on the facts of _this_ situation, I can tell you that – beyond a shadow of a doubt – if you destroy the Inhabitants or Wonderland, you will have performed a blunder so massive you will regret it for the remainder of your life.” Selma was still dubious.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would restoring Ace to being his own person be a bad thing?” Ace sighed.

“Consider this, lady doctor,” he said. He met her gaze evenly, coolly. “Could any man, woman, or child truly endure what Ace suffered at the hands of Edward Hare? By ‘endure’ I mean emerge out on the other side mentally intact.” He allowed a moment of silence after his question before continuing. “The answer to this question is no. No one can experience cruelty that extreme and come out unscathed. Ace needed – still needs – a way to disassociate what happened. The creation of Wonderland, a world that – to him – is equally plausible and existent as reality, is what allows him to be the person he is. Now that Wonderland, an equally valid reality, exists, but at the same time he knows it doesn’t, Ace can dismiss the parts of this reality that are too much to suffer as non-real.” As if sensing the growing confusion in the room, Hatter elaborated. “You see, to him, Wonderland is _exactly_ as real as reality. Yet he knows Wonderland _isn’t_ real. As such, he can say reality – being _exactly_ as valid as Wonderland – doesn’t truly exist either. In this way, the things he endured were just as non-real as his struggles in Wonderland. Like nightmares, the effects and pain only lasting as long as the dream itself. But this isn’t all.”

“I’m sure that, since the time you discovered Ace’s injuries, you’ve done some research on childhood trauma cases, no?” Hatter asked. When Selma nodded, he continued. “Well, as research suggests, exposure to violence breeds the _capacity_ for violence, the more endured sometimes directly correspondent to the inclination. Now, consider Wonderland. Chaotic. Lewd. Primitive. Above all, _savage._ You didn’t truly get to experience Wonderland the way these three,” he gestured to Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard, “did. But allow me to assure you, not a day passes where someone isn’t brutally unlived. It’s a place that is practically sustained on violence. Why? _Because it’s a vent._ The level of constant fear and stress that Ace has been under – and I’ll admit it largely fluctuates – needs to be released. And after his lifetime experiences, one of the ways he releases it is through violence. He uses Wonderland to flush out all that violence in a non-destructive way.” Hatter smiled sardonically.

“Did you know that when we were first created, none of us were capable in combat?” He watched the confusion and protest surface on Whitebeard, Marco, and Thatch’s faces, amused. “That’s right. Now tell me, how is combat talent developed? Practice. In the past ten years I’ve unlived over 1,000 times. Once every three days, on average. And there are more Inhabitants than just me. It comes out to an average of two or three a day. Only the creator has the power to unlive Inhabitants like that. When it first started, every day was a massacre, usually only one or two of us being alive or dead by the end of the day, the rest unlived. We learned, though. We’ve learned to fight back, to draw it out. If it takes longer for him to unlive one of us, by the time he unlives the others, the first ones have revived again. This…stabilizes Wonderland. If all of us are ever gone at once, it doesn’t end well.”

“What do you mean by that? And what did you mean, ‘in the past ten years’? Wasn’t Wonderland only developed a few weeks ago?” Selma asked.

“I cannot answer your first question. It is one of the topics I have been prohibited from broaching. The other two, however, lead me to my third and final point about how you would find the destruction of Wonderland adverse to your wishes.” Ace looked to Marco, Thatch and Whitebeard. “I’m going to tell her now. Sorry if you were planning to do it more delicately than this.” He looked back to Selma.

“If you were to destroy Wonderland, you would destroy the Ace you know as your brother, friend, and comrade along with us. You see, the Inhabitants as we are now, as Thatch, Marco, Whitebeard, and now you have interacted with us, aren’t the ones from ten years ago – though we were practically entirely the same back then too. This is us _now_. The fact of the matter is, between the time of Ace as a ten-year-old and the present, Ace doesn’t ‘get better’, as you seem to have defined it. We don’t go away. We don’t stop talking to him. We don’t stop telling him what to do. He continues to listen to us. And it is _because of what we say and advise_ that he has said and done many of the things you respect and know him for. We are part of what defines Ace as the person you know. If you were to take us away, to shut us up, to unchangeably reinstate the original…he wouldn’t be the same person that you know. So here is the final question: Do you want to save your brother or save the stranger? Because if you destroy Wonderland, you’ll destroy your Ace with us.”

Ace turned his head slightly, his expression turning to a snarl. “Hatter _shut up._ You’re going too far!” Ace’s expression shifted, suddenly calm again. “Ah. I forgot myself for a moment.” He sighed deeply. The snarl returned as quickly as it had gone. “You _‘forgot yourself’?!_ We only _just fucking manage_ to start to get Dormouse Made again, and you _‘forgot yourself’?!_ I swear to God, if he heard you and Dormouse is Unmade again, I’ll fucking unlive you myself!” Ace’s expression shifted to calm curiosity. “Speaking of him hearing things, where exactly is he? You and Caterpillar said you’d hold him back while I talked to the lady doctor, where did you spirit him off to?” The expression shift wasn’t to a snarl this time, but the tone of voice suggested the same person as before. “Caterpillar’s got him. We…uh…” he looked a little sheepish, rubbing at the back of his head. “…we went a little overboard, though,” he finally mumbled, dropping his gaze to the floor. His face shifted back to the calm, and a few seconds of silence stretched, Hatter blinking mutely. “…You know I don’t find your sense of humor amusing, Queen,” he finally said. His expression shifted again, this time to something between embarrassment and anger. “It’s not a joke! We didn’t _mean_ to, but he wouldn’t stop-“ he was cut off by a heavy sigh, accompanied by Hatter’s placid expression. “Take me to him.” The other voice – Queen – returned, this time turning to look out at the room’s occupants. “What about them?” he asked. Hatter’s calm expression retook Ace’s face. “…They’ll be fine. There’s some other Inhabitants nearby that they can talk to. The lady doctor’s interested in a psycho-analysis, I believe.” Queen’s expression claimed Ace’s face and he looked around and behind him, seemingly seeing things they couldn’t. “…Not exactly a cheery crowd. But a _harmless_ one.” Hatter appended, taking over directly after Queen finished his sentence. Queen returned, studying the invisible people around them for another moment before shrugging, his expression then leaving Ace’s face.

Ace’s face went blank for a few seconds, staring unblinkingly at the wall. Silence stretched.

Finally, Ace seemed to revitalize, his hands reaching for and grasping each other. His face took on a look of nervousness. “I-I-I think it’d b-be okay f-for us to-to-to sp-speak. Wh-What do you th-think?” A tiny pause. “I d-don’t think it’d be-be wro-wrong.” He looked out at the room’s occupants, smiling timidly at Selma. “H-Hello, la-lady doctor. I-I-I’m Tweedle D-Dee. A-And I’m Tw-Tweedle Dum. Y-You prob-probably won’t be a-able to t-tell us apart, b-but that’s o-okay. W-We c-c-collec-collectively act as Ace’s c-conscience. I t-tell him if a thi-thing is right. A-And I t-tell him if a th-thing is wro-wrong.” A long moment of silence passed.

“…D-Do you re-really want to des-destroy us, lady d-d-doctor?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes widening. “It-It’d be wr-wrong for you t-to jump to ha-ha-hasty ac-action. Y-Y-You sh-should thi-think about what Ha-Ha-Hatter s-said r-really ha-hard before you m-make up your m-mind.”

“I…” Selma glanced to Whitebeard. “ _We_ haven’t decided what course of action is best yet. We’re going to have to discuss it. With Ace too.” Ace’s face twisted into a slight frown.

“I-I-I know you th-think it’d b-be r-right for you to ta-talk about this w-with Ace, b-but you c-c-can’t. It-It-It’s really impor-rtant th-that you d-don’t t-tell him ab-about any of wh-what H-Hatter s-said.” Selma frowned in confusion, turning from Ace to Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard. They were equally perplexed, however. Selma shook her head, turning back to Ace.

“Isn’t Hatter part of Ace’s mind? Doesn’t he already know everything Hatter knows?” she asked. Ace whimpered, curling in on himself, clutching his own hand more desperately.

“I-It’s wrong to h-hide thi-things fr-from them,” Ace whispered to himself. “Y-Yes, b-but is it r-right to te-te-tell th-them?” Ace seemed to curl further in on himself, face crinkled with indecision. “…Th-They’re h-his fa-family. I…I-I think i-it’s ri-right for them t-to know. G-Good. L-Let’s tell the-them then.” Ace whimpered again, clutching his own hand tighter still. “…I-I’m s-s-scared. W-W-What if h-he fi-finds out? W-What if w-w-we mess u-up and he he-hears? It-It’d b-be the end o-of _ev-ev-every-everything!”_ Ace squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear escaping and sliding down the left side of his face. “I-I know. I-I-I’m sc-scared too.” A shudder passed through his frame. “B-But we ha-have to tr-try.”

Ace looked back up at Selma, his face a distressed spectrum of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty. “W-Will you ha-hate us?” he asked timidly. “W-Will you ha-hate him?” Selma frowned.

“No. Ace is my family, my brother. There’s nothing you could say that would ever make me hate him,” she said firmly. Ace remained silent for a few moments, studying her face as if trying to measure her resolve. When he turned away, Selma couldn’t be sure whether he’d found what he looked for or not. His gaze shifted to Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard.

“…Di-Did it e-ev-ever strike you a-as strange? Di-Did you e-ever t-take a mo-moment t-to really th-think ab-about it? I-I don’t th-think you d-did a-and you we-weren’t sup-suppo-supposed to. B-But th-think about it n-now.

“Wh-Wh-When Ace we-went into Wonderl-land for the f-f-first time, h-he sa-sa-saw the physical body ly-lying on the floor, r-right?” He took the uncomprehending looks as confirmation. “B-B-But is-isn’t it w-weird, i-if you loo-loo-look at the timing? I-If h-he could s-see th-th-that bo-body, why c-couldn’t he s-see a-any-anyone else in the ro-room? Sho-Shouldn’t h-he have also s-seen H-Hare and th-the other m-men? I-If he w-was re-re-really the-there at tha-that time?” Ace’s left hand squeezed the right. “Something’s c-coming…” he said nervously, looking around like a spooked deer. “Hurry u-up!” Ace swallowed thickly, beginning to tremble faintly. “A-And that’s n-not a-all,” he said, talking faster now, more desperately. “Wh-Why-Why did Ace f-find th-the Inhabitants fa-familiar? He m-might not have kno-known the na-names, but he kn-knew _u-us_. Wh-Why? He-He’d ne-ne-never me-met us before, r-right?” Ace looked around wildly, breath in terrified gasps. “Out of t-time! W-We ha-ha-have to r-ru-“ Ace leapt to his feet and spun, facing a wall. He went rigid, his entire body freezing, eyes widened in horror.

“Too late,” he whispered.

Silence reigned for a few moments, Ace so perfectly still it was jarring. Time itself seemed to almost pause. A pin dropping would have sounded like thunder.

Ace slumped bonelessly to the floor.

“Ace!” Selma was the first to rush over, crouching over him, lifting him gently. It became quickly obvious that he was alive – his breathing was regular and his pulse steady, when Selma gently pressed her fingers to her neck. His eyes were closed, his mouth open slightly.

“He’s…asleep?” Thatch asked, standing beside Selma, bending over Ace in concern.

“Ace,” Selma said, shaking Ace gently. “Ace,” she repeated, slightly increasing the force she was using. Ace’s eyelids fluttered, clenched, then finally opened. He groaned quietly, squeezing his eyes shut again and rubbing at them like he had a headache, or the light in the room was too bright. When he opened his eyes again, he flinched, pulling out of Selma’s hold and sitting up on his own. Selma looked concerned, prepared to brace him if he needed it, but didn’t touch him again. Ace looked around the room

“Wha…?” he murmured, still squinting. He looked up at Marco. “How’d I get here?”

“You had a narcoleptic attack in the hallway. We wanted to make sure you hadn’t reopened any of your wounds or hit your head in the fall, so we brought you back here,” Marco said calmly, smoothly. Selma looked at him sharply for a moment, and he looked up at her briefly to stare back calmly. He turned his gaze back to Ace before he resumed speaking. “You woke up before Selma started the examination though. How are you feeling? Does anything feel like it reopened? Does your head hurt?” Ace shook his head slowly.

“It doesn’t hurt. Just feels a little…fuzzy,” he said, rubbing at his forehead. He frowned slightly. “I…I think I had a weird dream, but I don’t remember…”

“It’d probably be best for you to get some decent sleep. After being trapped in Wonderland, your mind could probably use a break,” Whitebeard said. “Thatch can show you to your room, if you’d like. Someone will come and get you for dinner as well.” Ace, still seeming a little dazed, rose unsteadily to his feet. Whitebeard could sense his muffled confusion, the unformed question hanging in Ace’s mind. He looked between the adults, mild uncertainty in his eyes. _What happened?_ he thought dimly, the thought vague, and not fully formed, but still clearly projected to Thatch, Marco and Whitebeard. _Why are you all looking at me like that?_ The frown was growing, distrust with it.

_Ace think about it,_ Marco supplied placantingly. _All four of us share mindspace now. We’re practically like the Inhabitants. We aren’t capable of hiding things from you or lying to you, right?_ Ace studied him, silent, for a moment longer. Finally, though, his face relaxed.

_Right_ , he finally responded, shaking his head slightly. _Of course._ He seemed at ease now, believing these facts to be irrevocably true. Ace turned away to face the door and Marco frowned slightly, careful to keep his confusion and incomprehension subtle enough that Ace wouldn’t pick up on it and ask.

Because the Inhabitants _were_ hiding things from Ace.

Apparently earth-shatteringly important things.

Things that, despite _knowing_ the answer was _there, staring him in the face_ , Marco couldn’t quite piece together.

Marco couldn’t be sure of anything. And until he figured out what, exactly, this secret the Inhabitants were keeping was and why Ace couldn’t know about it, he deemed prudence the safest course of action. Once he discovered this secret he could deduce its possible consequences. He didn’t want to jump in blind, telling Ace what they’d been told before he figured out what it all meant. So he’d do as Hatter suggested and keep it quiet, recommending the others do so as well. He wasn’t sure what could be so important that saying it would change everything so dramatically, but that uncertainty leant him even more caution.

What Marco wondered at the most, the fact that he was currently scrutinizing the most closely, was the fact that this situation could exist at all.

How could it be possible that the Inhabitants, pieces of _Ace’s mind_ , could have information that Ace didn’t?

This question buzzed back and forth in his head, but he couldn’t pin down an answer. He hadn’t even come up with a hypothesis that withstood the _slightest_ cross-examination yet. No matter how he looked at it, it just _didn’t make sense_.

Marco’s thought-process was interrupted by someone pounding through the door, winded from sprinting. Ace practically leapt out of his skin, jumping back, closer to Thatch, Marco, and Whitebeard. The man – a member of 6th division – took only a moment to regain any of his breath before speaking, voice urgent.

“Oyaji!” he gasped, leaning against the doorframe. “You have to come quickly!” Whitebeard, concerned, rose.

“What is it?” he asked, voice taking on a more powerful, commanding tone. The man – still panting – swallowed, glancing at Ace and seeming to hesitate. “Say it,” Whitebeard ordered.

“It-…It’s-” he started. He licked his lips, eyes flitting uncertainly to Ace for a moment before returning to Oyaji.

“We found one of Edward Hare’s men on the ship.”  



	50. Chapter 50

“He’s coming to get you, he’s coming to get you,” Rabbit chanted delightedly, over and over, tipping his head back and forth in time with his off-kilter beat.

“Ace, try to rationalize-“ Hatter started, but Ace couldn’t really hear him, not over the pounding in his ears. Rabbit’s voice should have been a broken shriek with the volume it seemed to have over all the other voices in the room, but he just continued singing normally, the sound inexplicably amplified.

 _“Ace!”_ Queen called, shouting, trying to be heard. “It’s okay! You don’t have to be scared! You can fight back this time, we can kill _him_ instead, hurt him, whatever! It’s _okay!_ There’s no need to fear! Don’t listen to Rabbit!”

 _“He’s coming to GET YOU, he’s coming to GET YOU,”_ Rabbit’s voice was gaining intensity and he drew closer, standing just before Ace, grinning, looming over him. Ace could almost feel the thrum of each blood cell against his eardrums. He was dimly aware he was shaking, his hands clenched into such tight fists that his fingers on the right side felt like they were being stabbed, the wounds to both palms no doubt open and bleeding again. He felt a tug on a few strands of hair near his ear.

“You’re not alone,” a tiny voice murmured into his ear. “It’s okay this time. You’re not alone. They’ll take care of you now. Thatch and Whitebeard and Marco. They’ll make sure you’re safe.” The tiny form on his shoulder was wraithlike, the movements of his mouth not synchronized with his speaking. Dormouse’s tiny, rodent hands were the only part of his being with flesh, the rest being bare bone, aged, fragile, connected by grisly, exposed sinew. His tail was nearly 3 feet long, curled under and around Ace’s shoulder, anchoring him in place.

“Something’s breaking, something important,” Ace whispered. His blood rushed, hot, fast, _maddening_ in his ears. He searched his mind desperately, feeling things slipping out of his grasp like playing cards. “What’s _breaking?”_ he asked desperately.

“Ace, I need you to calm down. _Now_.” _It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. The man they caught isn’t Hare. He wasn’t even on Hare’s ship when you were in captivity there._ Ace’s eyes snapped to the source of the voice. Serpent. She stood just beside him, speaking calmly, sending reassuring words and emotions over their mental link.

_How do you know?!_

_I went to see him, once I found out he’d been captured. I know from your memories that he wasn’t on the ship – that and he didn’t recognize my face. If he’d been on the ship, he would’ve known what you look like and mistaken me for you._ “You need to breathe. If you keep hyperventilating you’re going to pass out.” _Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._ Ace fought to match the steady, even tempo Serpent was setting, tried to wrestle the panic down.

As the blind terror began to subside into a more rational response – still fearful, but at a more manageable level – Ace became more aware of his surroundings. Whitebeard was kneeling before him, concern etched into his face. Thatch hovered uncertainly beside him, clearly wanting to help but unsure of how to go about it. Marco stood just beside Serpent, brow furrowed, and looking ready to catch Ace should he really pass out.

 _See? You’re safe. Nobody’s going to get you. Ace, you can_ feel _how much they care about you. Do you really think they’d let_ anything _happen to you?_ Serpent was right, he could feel Whitebeard, Marco, and Thatch’s concern, their worry. Ace took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate begin to settle somewhat.

“I’m okay,” he said. He knew they’d be able to sense his reduced terror and know he wasn’t lying. He saw some of the tension leave Whitebeard’s face and mind. The man who’d brought the news was still standing in the doorway, shifting uneasily. _You’re the captain; you’ve got to handle this. Go,_ Ace thought at Whitebeard. If Whitebeard was unsettled by a foreign thought being impressed directly into his mind, he didn’t show it. He hesitated a moment longer, then stood, turning towards the man in the doorway.

“Lead the way,” he said. _He won’t be anywhere near you, Ace. Ever. And you won’t ever be unprotected. I promise._ The sheer _conviction_ in his mind convinced Ace more than the words themselves. To his mild surprise, Marco straightened as well, moving to follow Whitebeard. Something seemed to have shifted in his demeanor. When he turned back to look at Ace, his voice was warm, but his face was placid and removed.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Ace. Stay with Thatch.”

* * *

As it turned out, his hands _were_ bleeding again. Selma insisted on checking them, and that he lay down. And eat something (Thatch had promptly disappeared to the kitchen to fulfill this particular order. Ace had assumed he was one of the ship’s cooks, but now it was confirmed). Before, Ace might have panicked, but being able to see Thatch, Whitebeard, and Marco’s minds, he could see the absolute faith they placed in her. They trusted her. And Ace, seeing their minds and knowing they had no ill will towards him, trusted them. So, by extension, he trusted Selma. Hatter had talked him into it.

A man Ace vaguely recognized from the dining hall before his excursion to Wonderland entered the infirmary while Selma was busy unwrapping the palm of his left hand. The man had long black hair, and appeared to be a cross-dresser. Ace regarded him warily when he first entered, but this time it had been Serpent to run back through the logic that if the others trusted this man – which they obviously did – then Ace could trust him too.

 _You certainly got very friendly very quickly, Serpent,_ Ace thought. She rolled her eyes.

 _Ace you’re smarter than this. They’ve had_ thousands _of opportunities to hurt or kill you if they wanted to. Think about it. You were_ comatose _for_ quite a long time _, and not only that, but your mind was unleashing the_ Inhabitants _here. They actually hurt some of the people on this crew. Yet even so, they didn’t retaliate, despite the fact that you wouldn’t have been able to defend yourself. They’re_ not going to hurt you, she concluded.

 _Old habits die hard, I guess,_ Ace responded, still eyeing the room’s other occupants. He hissed as the last layer of bandaging was removed from his left hand, the fabric pulling slightly as it was lifted from the wound. Selma winced in sympathy.

“Sorry…” she said. She frowned down at his hand, turning it over gently to see the other side as well. “Well, you didn’t break any stitches, at least. Strained them a bit, but I don’t need to redo them.” Selma turned towards a cabinet. “I’ll rewrap this hand and then examine the next, okay? Just sit tight.”

 _Okay so…I have a question. With how long we were in Wonderland, up here it’s been over a week, right? So why in hell did it take you guys_ that long _to find an intruder on your own ship?_ Ace didn’t restrain the thought, but rather broadcasted it out to Thatch, Marco, and Whitebeard.

 _Well to be fair, while we were unconscious the crew was focusing on the Inhabitants and maintaining as few casualties and injuries as possible. Their movements were highly limited during that time. And on top of that, the man was hiding very cleverly in a place we don’t go much, and a place one wouldn’t exactly search for a stowaway in. We caught him when he snuck out looking for food,_ Whitebeard responded.

 _Where was he hiding?_ Ace asked.

 _The brig, actually. It’s counterintuitive enough that it was a really good idea,_ Whitebeard thought. Ace half-expected Marco to chime in, but his mind was still, cool as marble.

 _…What’s up with Marco?_ he had a feeling Marco wouldn’t be the one answering, so he asked the question generally. He felt Whitebeard pause and Thatch’s consciousness perk up with curiosity. Interesting. Thatch didn’t know either, then.

“What’s wrong, Ace? I’m not hurting you, am I?” Selma asked, concerned. She was studying his face, and Ace knew some of his edgy uncertainty had shown on his face.

“No, you’re not hurting me. I was just thinking,” he said, aware the excuse was weak at best. He was too curious about Whitebeard’s response to waste concentration on coming up with a better lie. Selma seemed to accept it uneasily.

_…Marco-_

_I don’t empathize well, yoi._ Marco joining the conversation startled Ace slightly. _When I meet new people, I make zero assumptions about them. When one human meets another an instinctive bond- well…recognition might be a better word. Essentially, one human recognizes the other as also human, and that similarity and the recognition of it makes them, at the very basest of unconscious levels, trust and identify with the other. I don’t. In this way, I am a better judge of character, lie detector, and interrogator of strangers than anyone else. Even subconsciously, I don’t trust them not to lie to me, or not to try to hide things from me. So that’s why I’m the one currently trying to get information, yoi. Because if it really came down to it, I’m prepared and capable of doing whatever’s necessary to get the information we need. I won’t let you suffer like that again, Ace. Regardless of what that asks of me._ Ace was sure his shock was blatant. Marco seemed to anticipate incoming horror and continued. _I only go to extreme measures in extreme situations. I’m no monster, Ace. I find no joy in extraneous cruelty. As long as there are other means available-_ Ace cut him off.

 _…You think I care what you do to Hare’s man? Bullshit. Tear him to_ pieces _, wipe him off the face of the_ planet. _I don’t care. Hare crafts his crew to be composed of monsters so they can stomach and participate in the horrors he commits. This guy’s gonna be just like the rest of them. The ones that destroy monsters aren’t monsters themselves, Marco. They’re heroes. Do your_ fucking worst. _The world will be better off for it._ If Marco was surprised by this response, he did a good job concealing it.

“…You’re worried about Hare coming back for you, aren’t you?” Selma asked. Ace quashed his exasperation. After that shoddy excuse he knew she wouldn’t believe him. But he was finished with his interactions with Whitebeard and Marco, so he shifted his attention back to this room. Selma had checked his other hand and, seemingly satisfied that these stitches were also still in functional condition, was carefully and methodically rebandaging it. She was studying him closely, her face serious. He didn’t respond, merely met her gaze evenly. He couldn’t deny it. He was pretty sure he was going to be worried about Hare coming back for him for the rest of his life. Especially now that he knew he was still alive. Selma’s eyes softened slightly. “It’s okay, Ace. It’s not going to be long. We’ll find out where he is, and after that, it won’t matter where he goes in the entire world. We’ll find him. And we’ll kill him.” Her expression was resolute, firm, determined. They _would_ find Hare. They _would_ punish him for everything he had done. She was _sure_ of it.

So it came as a surprise when Ace burst into short, incredulous laughter.

“No, doctor. I don’t think you’ll be doing anything to Edward Hare.” He wouldn’t deny the way the name still made his stomach clench, but he tried not to show any outward sign of it.

“We will, Ace. He won’t be able to get awa-“

“ _That’s_ what you think this is about? Him getting _away?”_ Ace was grinning wonderingly, shaking his head. “You’ve got it all backwards, doc. It’s not a matter of him getting away. It’s about your very reality ceasing to exist. Because that’s what he does. He unmakes everything you care about, and then he unmakes you. You’re not ready to fight Edward Hare because you still have so much you’re unwilling to lose.”

“We’re not afraid of him, Ace,” Selma said firmly.

“Yeah that’s another one of your problems,” Ace replied. “You don’t take him seriously enough because you overestimate the effectiveness of your crew. That’s because you don’t _understand_ him, not like I do.”

“Ace-“

“How is war won, doctor? What do you consider to be victory?” Selma frowned at the sudden question.

“…One side attacking the other until they are no longer able to reciprocate,” Selma said. Ace tipped his head, smiling, faintly patronizing.

“Wrong. War is won through means. Soldiers stop fighting when their children are put on enemy front lines. You’d never dream of doing such a thing. But Hare would. Without hesitation. You and this crew are always, _always_ going to lose against Hare for one reason: you have rules. You have standards you hold yourself to. Things you can’t stomach doing. Hare doesn’t share this weakness. He will do anything he has to to achieve his goals and safeguard his own life. There is _nothing_ he wouldn’t do to get what he wants. Morality is a foreign concept to him, right and wrong don’t exist because he doesn’t care about them. You and this crew’s dewy-eyed ethics and idealism will do nothing but get you and everything you’ve ever cared about killed if you pursue Edward Hare.” Serpent watched him, concerned.

“Ace…” she said lowly, Ace waved her off, still not looking away from Selma.

“You aren’t even close to understanding what you’re dealing with. You think he’s human. You think he must have limits.”

“Ace!” Serpent said more urgently. _Stop it. You don’t have to-_

_I don’t know them, Serpent. I don’t care what they think of me. They need to understand how fucking out of their league they are._

“Well here’s a little taste of the man you claim to be human. He used a knife to pin me to a floor, then he and eleven other men raped me.” He watched the horror cross Selma’s eyes, saw her face pale. “And it wasn’t for some sick fetish or personal pleasure. It was to _prove a point_. The actual act of it was meaningless to him, it was only meant to show me that, just as nobody had come to save me, I was incapable of saving myself. To show me _exactly_ how pathetic, weak, and worthless I am to him. To tear down any remaining notion that I meant anything to anyone or even myself. That, _that_ is the man you’re saying you can win against. I doubt you’d even kill a man in cold blood. Hare was willing to carve his name into my back and cauterize it with _acid_ for _no reason at all,_ besides that he wanted to see how I’d react _._ There’s nothing he won’t do to preserve his own life. Nothing. I don’t care how much more manpower you have or how well prepared you think you are. As long as you aren’t willing to use the same level of tactics as him, you won’t stand a chance.” Ace was still smiling insincerely. “You think everyone has some kind of border, some kind of line they will not cross. You believe there are no monsters among men. Well, in that way you are right. There are no monsters among men because all men _are_ monsters. Edward Hare isn’t special, he’s just willing to win.”

* * *

Marco sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall. Serpent smiled sympathetically.

“How’d it go in there?” she asked. Marco ran a hand through his hair, mild frustration agitating his movements.

“We’re getting nowhere. It’s not a matter of him lying or hiding anything, he honestly doesn’t know.” Marco’s mouth twisted. “…Not that I can say I’m particularly surprised. Hare doesn’t seem the type to share his plans with anyone. Apparently with the haste that Hare’s ship left, he simply didn’t make it in time. Stranded. Half-starved at this point, and scared to death. I know what Ace said, but he doesn’t seem particularly threatening to me. But we’re keeping him locked up until we decide what to do with him.”

“…Give it a break, then. Let him worry and doubt overnight and see if he remembered anything new tomorrow. There’s…not really a need to rush. You look exhausted Marco. Get some sleep.” Marco snorted, smiling sardonically.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you know better than that. Cheshire told you more than you’re letting on.” Marco looked Serpent in the eye. “Am I wrong?” She looked away.

“No, you’re not wrong. I…I do know everything Cheshire knows, when he lets me. But I figured, since _you_ never said anything, that I wouldn’t…” She trailed off, biting her lip, still looking at the floor. “I’m…I’m sorry that he manipulated you. I’m sorry that he barged into your memories without your permission. It was…cruel.” Marco softened.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t pretend to understand Cheshire or his motives, but blaming yourself for someone else’s actions will only make you miserable, trust me.” Marco pushed off the wall, patting Serpent gently on the shoulder as he passed her by. “I’m going to find Oyaji. What little I did learn he needs to know.” Serpent chuckled.

“…Still not used to the whole ‘telecommunication’ thing, huh?” she asked. Marco paused, looking back over his shoulder at her.

“I just prefer face-to-face conversations. Not being able to monitor who hears what I’m ‘saying’ is discomforting to me. I don’t like the Inhabitants eavesdropping.”

“You do know, though, that if it makes enough of an impression for Oyaji to have any kind of emotional response Ace will get curious and investigate, right?” she asked. Marco smiled blithely.

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of practice delivering potentially upsetting news. Just…maybe try to keep Ace distracted for me for a while?” She smirked.

“What if I want to know too, though?” she asked, half serious.

“You know me well enough to know that I’d tell you if it were truly necessary. As soon as I know something worth sharing, I’ll share it.” With that, he turned and continued down the hallway. Serpent considered her options. She knew, with their minds intertwined as they were, that it would be an easy feat to find whatever information Marco had gained. But she also knew that he was no liar. She knew she trusted him. She knew that – truly – if he had important information he wouldn’t hide it from her. She sensed his mind turn down the hallways of the ship, winding among them effortlessly. After considering a moment longer, she shrugged, turning to walk back towards-

The knife slid effortlessly into her back, her expression morphing to one of shock.

The pain didn’t take long to catch up.

She gave a bloodstained cough, the knife feeling like a bar of solid fire shoved into her back. Nonetheless, she smiled hatefully.

“Wrong one you son of a bitch,” she choked out. _Serpent?! Serpent What’s wrong?! What’s going on?!_ She could feel Ace’s concern, his surprise, his uncertainty. Serpent knew he couldn’t see what was going on with her physically, but this rage was uncommon, beyond rare.

“Call Ace.” Serpent’s eyes widened, rage turning to shock in an instant. _Serpent?! What is it?! Talk to me!_ Ace was growing more upset, more desperate. And Serpent knew exactly why. Because something had crossed over, from her side to his, that had never passed that way before.

But not for herself. She felt the blade in her back and somehow knew she was beyond the point where she could rationally fear for herself. No, this was fear for Ace. Serpent’s green eyes closed gently for a moment. It wouldn’t take long for Ace to feel her pain, for him to realize what was happening, what had already happened to her. Serpent felt the knife in her ribs and the blood pouring down her back and knew. She could see it coming.

 _I won’t make him watch this._ She could picture Ace’s face, if she failed to do what she knew she had to. She knew he’d be sad. Knew he’d cry. She’d promised herself she’d never, _never_ make Ace cry. She felt a lump rising in her throat, tears pressing at her eyes. She knew what she had to do. She couldn’t hesitate now.

She shut the door between her and Ace’s minds.

For the first time since her creation, Serpent’s world was silent. There was no constant exchange of sensation or the occasional commentary. There was none of the familiar companionship, that perfect closeness with someone else. None of the shared emotions, the shared pain with someone else who cared enough to listen all the time.

For the first time in her life, Serpent was entirely alone.

Tears began to run down her face, falling from her eyes and dripping from her chin. It hurt, to be alone. To know she was going to be alone forever. It scared her more than anything.

“Call. Ace.” The knife was twisted in her back and she gave a cry of pain. A tiny, quiet sob came up her throat, but not from the physical ache of the knife. Tears ran faster down her face, but her mouth pulled into a broken smile.

“I can’t. I can’t anymore,” she whispered. A long moment of silence followed.

“…Then die alone.” Serpent’s heart shattered. The knife was pulled from her back and without its support she crumpled to the floor, blood pouring out of the wound. She heard repeating footsteps and couldn’t turn to look after them. Serpent felt the tears still running down her face and made no effort to stop them, couldn’t if she’d tried. She hated this. She hated being alone. She’d been separated for less than two minutes and already missed everything about being connected with Ace. She pressed against the walls that separated them, tears pouring down her face. She’d never been alone in her whole life, and even after these brief moments apart she knew it was hell for her. She hated being alone. And here she was, lying in a rapidly expanding pool of her own blood, nobody there panicking, trying to save her, fighting for her life.

Here she was dying alone.

Even pressed against the wall that now separated them, Serpent could feel none of Ace’s familiar, comforting presence. The blood was draining rapidly from her body, and her hands and feet already felt cold, that chilling numbness beginning to spread up her legs and arms. _No,_ she sobbed mentally. _I…I don’t want to die like this!_ The tears fell hot and fast down her face. She wanted Ace. She wanted to be held, to be told that she had done the right thing. She wanted them to be as they always had been, two broken, failing creations stumbling along, leaning on each other for support.

Serpent wanted her best friend with her as she was dying.

The coldness had spread, climbing up to her mid thighs and all of her arms. Her breathing was ragged, tattered with sobs, and she felt utterly wretched. She hadn’t yet let herself consider the underlying fear, beneath the crushing dread of this solitude, of dying. She knew it was there, but compared to the bitterness and horror of this aloneness, it didn’t currently feel like it mattered. It was beginning to become more relevant, though, and as the chill of bloodloss brushed at her torso, she made a sound – a mix of a sob and a cry – of fear and despair, hurling her psyche at the wall between her and Ace. It didn’t shift or falter and she fell back, crying almost hysterically. The silence was destroying her.

A quiet thrum sounded, like a gentle knock on a door.

The foreign presence waited for some kind of response, but when it received none pressed forward, into Serpent’s mind. Serpent didn’t notice the new presence until she found herself entirely and completely wrapped in it, cradled, even. Her eyes widened and her heart froze in her chest, but after only the briefest moment’s hesitation she latched onto it, sinking into it, clinging to it with all the desperation and abandon of a child.

The presence made no verbal response, only seemed to embrace her tighter. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, weeping against it mentally even if she couldn’t physically. With how completely he’d wrapped himself around her consciousness he’d undoubtedly traced her pain to the injury.

 _…What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen when I die?_ Serpent couldn’t help the question, it just slipped out. She asked it timidly, like a child. She knew he couldn’t possibly have the answer to her question, but she let it hang there, her growing trepidation clear with it. A long silence followed, but Serpent didn’t rationally expect a response. She didn’t expect him to have one.

 _...White shores._ The thought was sent to gently to startle her, but a response hadn’t been expected. Confident warmth was sent over their link, assurance. Certainty. _You’ll see white shores._ Serpent hung on each word with childish wonder and he fought to keep the grief from spilling over so she’d notice it. _And beyond._ Serpent could feel the edges of her mind beginning to ebb away, growing distant.

 _That doesn’t sound so bad._ The chill was creeping further into her torso and she stared at the wall in front of her.

 _No. Not so bad at all._ A moment of silence passed between them, Serpent leaning against him like a crutch, him accepting and supporting her, soothing away the tiny worries and little doubts, sending nothing but warmth over their link.

 _…Did I do the right thing? Did I do good enough? Good enough to deserve this life that Ace gave me? Did I deserve his companionship, his support, his friendship all these years?_ Silence again, him seemingly preparing his response.

The first image was of Ace, Thatch, and Serpent all at a table during a meal. It was from some alternate perspective, looking in on the scene. Thatch’s face was pulled into an indignant scowl, blush coloring his cheeks, in response to the verbal blow Serpent had dealt him. Ace had his head thrown back in raucous laughter, grin as bright and wide as anyone had ever seen it, lighting up his whole face, the whole room. Serpent stared at the image for a few moments, recalling the time from her own memory as well.

The next was of Ace and Serpent seated at a table, again from some alternate perspective. There was a chessboard between the two of them. Ace was staring down at the board, a look of deep concentration on his face. In his eyes, though, you could see the fierce, joyous glint of competition. He was clearly _relishing_ the game, the challenge. Serpent’s tears dried, slowly. How could she cry, remembering the joy and companionship she’d had all through her life?

The next image was obviously late at night. The perspective was looking through a doorway. Through it, she could see herself and Ace sitting in a pool of lamplight emanating from the lantern next to them. Their backs were to the door and they were both hunched over something as if focusing on it deeply. Scattered all around them were a variety of gears, screws, and other metal bits accompanied by the tools to properly use them. You could just see the edge of whatever it was they were working on, bits of metal protruding from the gizmo. In the image Serpent was staring at the device intently, clearly sharply focused, but Ace wasn’t. Ace was looking at here.

There was a smile on his face, soft as a breeze.

The cold had spread through most of her chest, but Serpent didn’t care. She was getting another chance, getting another look at everything she had to be grateful for.

The next image was of the two of them sleeping. Serpent was sprawled out, her body stretched almost to its full length. She lay on her side, her head tucked under Ace’s chin, her ears tickling his chin, one forepaw up on his cheek. His body was curled around hers, his entire front side in contact with her. He had his arm wrapped gently around her, cradling her to his chest. His face was peaceful, serene. The smile was quiet, one of someone who’s doing it subconsciously, not even realizing how happy they are. _To have given this much joy, to have shared so selflessly with someone else… Do you really have to ask those questions?_ he asked quietly.

Serpent’s tears had dried by now and there was a smile on her face that almost perfectly matched that of Ace’s in the image. She was calm. Serene. Happy.

She wasn’t alone.

 _Thank you._ Her voice was quiet, barely moving across the mindscape. Her joy flowed over the mental link and she didn’t try to hold it back. She had served her purpose in this life. She’d made those around her happy and had gained her fair share in return. _Thank you._ The cold had spread all through her chest, only a tiny spark of warmth remaining at her very core. Their connection was very weak now, Serpent’s mind fading out. _Thank you._ She left.

One final tear slid unfelt down her cold face. It wasn’t like the others, though. Because this tear was happy. It paraded quietly down her temple and into her hair, proclaiming its existence to no one, its truth proved only through the quiet, truly joyous smile on her face.

Serpent’s sightless green eyes stared at the wall in front of her.

Marco didn’t cry, when he felt Serpent fade out. But across the ship, when the mental wall Ace had been furiously hurling himself against since she’d slammed the door just evaporated, all of that mindspace back as if it’d never disappeared anywhere to begin with, Ace tipped his head back and _screamed._  
  



	51. Chapter 51

_WHERE IS SHE?!_ Ace snarled over the shared mindspace. His whole chest felt like it was being ripped apart, like _he_ was the one who’d been murdered.

_Ace-_ Thatch started.

_WHERE. THE FUCK. IS SHE?!_ Ace felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t crying, not yet. Around him, the Inhabitants were in a frenzy. Queen was screaming for vengeance, punishment. Dormouse was writhing on the floor, in seeming agony. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were sobbing _hysterically_ , clinging to one another. The Dodo was ripping out his feathers, one by one, crying breathily, incomprehensibly shrieking. Hatter was staring at the wall, shaking his head slowly, his voice a drowned out murmur among the chaos.

“We’re all undone,” he muttered. Ace couldn’t hear him over the cacophony.

_Ace,_ Marco’s voice was calm, but Ace could feel his grief, his sympathy. But that didn’t matter now, Ace could tell that he _knew._

_Marco you tell me where she is RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!_ Ace was already moving, already out the door, heading down a hallway. Marco seemed to sense that somehow, he needed this.

_…She’s on the bottom level, near the aft of the ship. But Ace…don’t go there. There’s a reason she shut that door. She didn’t want you to see her. I’m already heading down there. There’s…nothing you can achieve by being there._ Marco’s words seemed to only tear deeper into Ace’s chest, further ripping him apart. He wanted desperately to defy them, to somehow disprove them, but Hatter – part of the crowd of Inhabitants trailing him – stared back at him and shook his head slowly. Ace bit back a sob, sprinting down the hallway, ignoring Marco’s advice.

He himself didn’t know where he was going, but he could see Marco’s mind, could locate it. And Marco had said he was with her, or at least heading towards her.  Marco finally stopped – on the bottom level, near the aft of the ship just like he said. Ace knew he could see him approaching as well, but he didn’t try to further dissuade him. Whitebeard was with Marco as well. Ace practically leapt down the stairs, shoving himself back to his feet after his legs buckled under him, ignoring the fiery agony in his legs, so incomparable to the pain in his chest.

He skidded around a final corner and stopped dead, panting heavily.

He couldn’t see her whole body, Marco, Whitebeard, and a few others standing around her. All he could see from here was the top of her head, her black hair already growing clumpy and matted with congealing blood. He thinks the sound he hears may have come from himself, as those present turn to look at him, but his whole reality is singularly focused on the corpse before him.

He rushes down the hall, shoving and worming between the people until he’s beside her. His knees give out from under him when he finally sees her whole body, and he can do no more than stare at her.

“Don’t cry here! There’s _people watching,”_ Queen hisses. But Ace can’t stop the tears once they start. Even the first sob is a violent one, gasping, choking, broken with sheer pain. The tears run hot and fast down his face, the sobs frequent and unstoppable, but he never lifts his hands to shield his face. He never tears his eyes away from her for a moment.

“You said we’d be safe here,” Ace choked out. Bitterness, grief, guilt, rage, solitude, sorrow- all swam in Ace’s mind. He finally ripped his gaze off of Serpent’s body to glare over his shoulder. “YOU SAID WE’D BE SAFE HERE,” he screamed at Whitebeard, the emotions tearing his chest apart. He stared at Whitebeard, tears staining his face, searching for justification, explanation, _something._ He could see heartbreak in the faces of the others gathered around, the sympathy and pity in their eyes as they looked down at him. He turned away, looking back down at Serpent, aware that he was trembling.

“Hare’s man did it, he’s the one that killed her,” Ace said. Marco traded an uneasy glance with Whitebeard.

“We don’t know that yet-“ Marco started, Ace’s head whipping around to stare at him, raw rage surging through his chest.

“Then it was a member of your _fucking crew!_ What would you rather I believe, huh, Marco?! What bullshit are you going to feed me next?! What’s the next lie that you’re going to tell me?! That “everything’s all right”?! Well it’s fucking _not,_ Marco! _IT’S NOT OKAY!”_ Ace’s voice broke. He bowed his head, a fresh bout of sobs crashing over his chest. He was going to die from this. This pain was too much. He couldn’t survive this. There was no moving past this. She was gone, and never, never coming back.

Someone knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched out of reflex, but didn’t care about anything enough anymore to pull away. “You’re right, Ace,” Marco murmured gently. “It’s not okay. It’s not. We’re going to find the culprit and they’re going to be punished. That won’t make it okay either, but she’ll get justice and that’s something.” Silence, only broken by Ace’s sobbing, hung.

“…How can you be so calm?” Ace whimpered. He hurt. He hurt _so much._ “How do you do it? How do you make the pain stop?” He looked up at Marco, tearstained, broken. “I’m…I’m not okay either, Marco.” Ace wanted to break down, to truly collapse, but he didn’t have anyone to support him, no one for him to collapse against. Not anymore. Slowly, carefully, Marco reached out. He pulled gently, weakly enough that Ace could wrench away if he wanted to.

He pulled Ace against him, holding him tremulously.

“…And that’s okay, Ace. You don’t have to be ‘okay’ about this,” Marco whispered.

And Ace shattered.

He sobbed against Marco’s shoulder, clinging to his shirt desperately. “Why did she have to die, Marco?” he sobbed. “Why does everyone I care about die?” His voice wasn’t hoarse, not yet, but it was getting there. “I promised- I _promised_ I’d never bury any more family members. Why- Why does everyone always die for me? I’d die a thousand times over for any of them! Why can’t _I_ be the one to suffer instead?” He didn’t expect answers. He clutched to Marco, weeping hysterically into his shirt. Marco didn’t offer a response. He couldn’t explain away the world’s unfairness. He couldn’t explain how it was acceptable for the world to take away someone as compassionate and vibrant as Serpent. He couldn’t explain how it was all right for the world to tear away the best friend and closest companion of a child who’d already endured more than his fair share of suffering.

He couldn’t explain how the world could possibly think any of this was okay.

“I’m going to take you away from here, is that all right, Ace?” Marco whispered. Ace sobbed, shaking his head.

“No! I won’t leave her!” He sounded so much like a child. Ace did his best to conceal his youth behind maturity, but now, now when raw emotion had torn all that away, he was just a ten-year-old kid. A kid who’d just lost one of the most important people in the world to him.

“Ace…” Marco started, chest aching. “…You and I both know she isn’t there anymore.”

Ace froze, even his tears pausing. He held there for a moment, before the most wretched sob yet tore out of his chest. After a long moment, he nodded miserably against Marco’s shoulder. Marco, taking this as assent, scooped him up carefully, turning and heading down the hallway. Ace continued to weep against him, and Marco didn’t fault him for it.

It took him a moment to decide where to take Ace. The infirmary wasn’t a good idea. Serpent’s body would be taken there for autopsy, and seeing the body again would only upset Ace more.

By the time they reached Marco’s room, Ace’s sobs had faded in volume, his tears seeming to run out. Marco set him gently on the bed, drawing back to see a hollow, dazed expression on Ace’s face. He looked exhausted. Drained. Vacant. They watched each other, Marco more empathetic than he would admit, Ace completely spent. After a long moment, Marco turned away, walking to the shelf beside his desk, and pulling something from it. He crossed back to Ace, crouching so they were eye-to-eye, Ace sitting on the bed. Ace merely stared back at him listlessly.

Marco lifted the article, holding it between them for examination. “Ace, do you know what this is?” Ace gave a tiny shake of his head. “It’s called a sachet. This was given to me a long, long time ago by someone very dear to me.” Marco kneaded and rolled the bag in his hand, a sweet, earthy smell emanating from it. “In it is a combination of chamomile, lavender, jasmine, and hops.” Marco placed the bag in one of Ace’s hands, watching him rub cautiously at the fabric, noticing, no doubt, the curious texture of it. “It’s meant to relax the mind. To help in times of stress. To soothe.” Ace was staring down at the small bag in his hand, studying the intricate embroidery. “The characters sewn onto it are from a very ancient language. It’s a petition for peace.” Marco didn’t smile. “…I know what it’s like. To lose people. Sadness so deep it feels like it’ll never stop, a void that no one, ever, will truly be able to fill. I know the rage, Ace. If you aren’t careful, all those emotions can destroy you.” Ace was looking back at him now, and Marco stared him right in the eye. “You need to find your peace in the storm, Ace. Don’t let yourself be tossed around in it constantly. Find a refuge, let yourself take a break every now and then. And know that, someday, if you let it, it will blow over and you’ll see the stars shining through the clouds. Nobody can replace her, Ace. Nobody. But there is still happiness for you to find out there, if you’re still willing to try and look for it.” He stood, looking down at Ace softly.

“Try to get some rest. I’ll bring you something to eat in a few hours.” Ace nodded mutely and Marco turned away, heading to his desk and sitting down. In truth, bureaucratic shit was the last thing he currently wanted to be working on. But he wouldn’t leave Ace alone, not when there was some unidentified threat on the ship, and not when Ace was in such a state of emotional fragility. He could feel the overwhelming grief and turmoil in Ace’s mind, currently subdued by a cloud of vacant numbness.

Marco settled into the work, keeping a piece of his attention carefully monitoring Ace. Whitebeard and Thatch sent quiet thoughts asking after his condition. Marco was always the one to respond to these, not Ace. Ace was silent, lying on his side, staring at the wall. He didn’t move.

When they’d entered the room, Marco had intentionally shut the Inhabitants out of it, but even with the visual and audible hallucinations not present, he could hear them in Ace’s mind. It was chaos. It was hell. Ace didn’t seem to care at all, never responding to anything they said. One by one they stopped talking. Queen was the last one to go, snarling about revenge and judgment. Ace didn’t respond directly to him, but Marco could sense his agreement.

After that, true silence existed in the room. Ace was still speechless, still motionless. Marco read each document more carefully than was probably necessary, taking his time, stretching out the work longer. He’d been careful so far not to show his own grief and guilt about Serpent’s death to Ace, and the work was helping him subjugate those emotions further with its regularity. Time passed. Finally, Marco glanced at the small clock and rose. Ace still didn’t stir.

“Ace, I’m going to go to the dining hall to get you some food. Stay in here. I’ll be back shortly.” Ace gave a nod of assent, not turning to look at him. Marco didn’t press him further, heading out into the hall and shutting the door quietly behind him.

_I could have brought you a plate, you know,_ Thatch said quietly. Marco sighed.

_I know. I think…Ace needed a few minutes alone, though,_ Marco responded.

The hallways were about as busy as usual, but there was a somber reservation in everyone’s movements. Everyone talked quietly. Nobody smiled as much. The dining hall was almost dead silent.

It was always this way the first day after losing a family member.

Serpent _had_ been one of them, even if she hadn’t worn their mark. She’d laughed with them, lived with them, loved and been loved. Her death hadn’t been one to only hurt Ace. Everyone was aching, grieving at some level. It had been a complete shock as well, not in the midst of battle when one could at least accept early deaths.

Every now and then someone would stop him, asking after Ace, how he was handling it. Marco had the same response for each. “He’s grieving. He just lost his best friend. I don’t think we should expect much activity from him for a while.” It was brief, but it conveyed the essential information, and silence seemed more appropriate somehow.

As he neared the front of the dining hall, where food was served, he paused for a moment, going completely still. Something had shifted, somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but something was off. Somehow everything had gone even quieter than before, but the same number of people were quietly murmuring at the same volume. It was a feeling of deep-seated solitude. Marco examined the emotion, studying it closely, trying to analyze it more carefully. But he could glean no more information from it nor trace its source. He wrote it off as a byproduct of grief, letting it slip out of analysis and back into the amygdala.

The walk back to his room was filled with the same deep sense of aloneness. Nobody tried to stop or talk to him. Nobody even really seemed to look at him, and he didn’t really look in return. It was only just before he turned down the last hallway to his room that the feeling seemed to pass. That, too, seemed odd. If it had been a product of his grief, shouldn’t it have lasted longer?

As he opened the door, he let his confusion fade. Emotion, by definition, was not subject to logic. He’d become more emotional in general since joining the Whitebeard Pirates, it shouldn’t surprise him that sometimes even his own reactions now escaped his ability to comprehend.

When he entered, Ace was lying on his side, staring at the same wall he had been for the last few hours. It was only as Marco drew closer that Marco noticed a difference. The sachet had moved from his right hand to his left. Marco cast this observation aside – the broken fingers of Ace’s right hand might have grown sore from the position of holding the bag – and set the plate of food on the bedside table with a faint clink.

“I brought you some food, Ace. You should really eat something.” Ace didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Marco let the silence stretch, waiting for some kind of recognition. After a long pause, he sighed. “…All right, I’ll leave it there for you. But do eat _something_ , Ace. You’re still getting over the aftereffects of your malnutrition, it’s important you keep eating.” Ace didn’t stir. Marco turned away, heading back to his desk. “You should sleep in here tonight. I don’t want you alone for long when there’s still a threat-“

“There is no threat anymore,” Ace said quietly, moving nothing but his mouth. Marco turned to stare at him in confusion. Ace remained motionless, and didn’t speak again. After a while, Marco felt his mind fade even further, the tide of emotions settling back into Ace’s subconscious. Ace had fallen asleep.

Marco sat uneasily at his desk, turning over Ace’s statement in his mind. The words themselves he could possibly explain – with Serpent gone Ace didn’t think there was anything to be threatened and thus there could be no threat. _Possibly_. Predicting the thoughts of others wasn’t something Marco was excellent at. But no, it wasn’t the words that had unsettled him.

It was the tone.

Marco had expected Ace’s voice to be wrung out, twisted with sorrow. But it hadn’t been. For all that it had been at a low volume, Ace’s voice had been…strong. It wasn’t tinged with grief or sadness. Instead, he had sounded…Marco couldn’t even put his finger on the correct adjective. He didn’t sound happy. He didn’t sound pleased. He sounded…

…satisfied.

Marco could make no sense of this, no matter how he examined it. Finally, with a last uneasy prod, he let it lie, settling it lower on his levels of conscious thought. He might have misheard, or misinterpreted. Emotion was not something he could deal with as fluidly as others. Perhaps he could get Ace to explain it in the morning.

* * *

The screaming roused Marco from the state of near-meditation he’d fallen into, working on paperwork all night. Marco instantly shot to his feet, whirling, alarm and surprise jolting his senses into hypersensitivity.

Ace was sitting bolt upright on the bed, clinging to himself desperately, his eyes wide and terrified. There were unheeded tears on his face, glistening in the soft light coming from the window – a mix of moonlight and pre-dawn glow. His breathing was harsh and ragged, far too fast. He was going to pass out if Marco didn’t do something.

Marco crossed to the bed, kneeling beside it. Ace’s eyes were roving wildly around the room, refusing to settle anywhere, blind terror dilating his pupils. “Ace, I need you to calm down. You’re all right. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” Ace’s eyes snapped to him as soon as he started speaking. As he spoke, Marco tried to convey some form of calmness across their mental link. He could feel Thatch and Whitebeard blearily returning to consciousness, Ace’s level of panic crossing over to their minds and waking them.

_Wha’s goin on?_ Thatch thought blearily.

_Ace had a nightmare. It’s all right, I think I’ve got it,_ Marco responded, sending this answer to Whitebeard as well. By now, Ace’s breathing had settled a little. He stared at Marco, wide-eyed.

“Am I a liar?” he asked, voice breathy, terrified. “You said you’re a good lie detector. _Am I a liar?!”_ Marco didn’t let his bewilderment show on his face, merely continued to send reassurance over their mental link.

“No, Ace. You’re not a liar,” Marco responded soothingly, sending feelings of confidence and honesty over their mental link. He really, _really_ hoped that was the answer Ace was looking for. A tense moment hung before a shudder passed down the length of Ace’s spine and his body relaxed somewhat.

“I dreamed…” Ace started, only to trail off. He shook his head. “I…I can’t really explain it. I dreamed that I…I dreamed that my name was a lie. And I kept trying to ask people around me what my name was, but I’d lied to everyone and they all thought my name was Ace. Finally I found Serpent-“ Ace choked slightly on the name. “I-I found her and I asked _her_ what my name was, because I knew she wouldn’t lie to me. But she…she wouldn’t tell me and I got angry, so, so angry.” His eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “And I… _I_ killed her, Marco. I just- I couldn’t- I couldn’t _stop-“_ He sobbed, raising his hands to his face, cutting himself off.

“That’s a terrible dream,” Marco murmured sympathetically. “But I assure you, Ace. You’re no liar. That _is_ your real name.”

“How do you know that? How can you possibly _know_ that for _sure?”_ Ace asked between sobs. Marco considered his answer, how much he should tell Ace. In this case, pure honesty seemed the best course of action.

“…Because I was there when you were named,” Marco said quietly. Ace froze, eyes snapping open and locking on him, expression bent with shock and confusion. Marco met his gaze evenly, softness in his eyes. “I think Roger cried more than you did, when you were born. Their whole crew was a mess, honestly. Rouge was like a mother to all of them, they all loved you from the time you were _conceived_ and now they could actually _see_ you…” Marco chucked faintly. “I was almost embarrassed _for_ them. Strongest pirate crew in the world, every one of them blubbering away over a baby,” he snorted, shaking his head amusedly.

“You knew my mother?” Ace whispered wonderingly. Marco smiled at him, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment.

“She remains one of the bravest, most compassionate, loving people I have ever known. During the time she was pregnant with you, Roger begged Oyaji to ask me to look after her. He and his crew were doing their best to raise a ruckus all over the world to distract the marines from you two, but he wanted to be _sure_ nothing would happen to either of you. She became one of the few people outside my family that I rank among my friends.” Marco paused, brief silence falling between them. He took the wonder and thirst in Ace’s eyes as a cue to continue speaking. “…She had the most beautiful singing voice. I remember, a few months before you were born, she asked me to teach her all manner of lullabies to sing to you.” Marco looked down for a moment, still smiling. “I…I don’t sing, but I would teach her the lyrics and play the melodies for her on the piano. I must have taught her over a hundred. And every evening we’d sit by the fire and I’d have her sing them back to me to make sure she got all the words and notes right. And after she’d finish she’d say to me, “Marco, tell us a story. Something full of adventures and excitement.” At first, I used folk tales. But after a while, your mother…” Marco trailed off, shaking his head, smiling ruefully. “…She got me talking about myself, eventually. She’s one of a handful of people I ever gave my life story to. She…she cried for me at the times where I should have, but couldn’t. It was one of the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given.”

“…You loved her,” Ace said quietly. Marco looked back at him, smiling warmly.

“Yes, I loved your mother very much. If Oyaji is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father, Rouge was the closest thing I’ll ever have to a mother.” He tipped his head. “That makes us half-brothers, eh?” Ace seemed to be mulling it over deeply. Marco chuckled quietly, standing, ruffling Ace’s hair gently. “I’m going to go get some coffee. You can go back to sleep or get a book off my shelf, if you like. I’ll be back soon.”

Marco left the room, shutting the door behind himself. The memories swam behind his eyes, and he relished in them. It had been some time since he’d considered that golden, lovely segment of his life. He walked down the deserted hallway on autopilot, letting the memories occupy his thoughts. He passed a single person in the hallway, perhaps someone just coming off watch, heading the opposite direction. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment and continued moving, receiving one in return.

When he got to the dining hall, bee-lining towards the communal coffee pot, he also approached the two other early-birds, including Haruta. She looked upset, talking to one of the members of her division, gesturing wildly. As Marco approached, he began to actually hear the conversation.

“…what do you _mean_ ‘just gone’?! How could he have possibly gotten out?! And what about the guard?!” Marco grew more concerned as he approached, his interest in the conversation growing exponentially.

“Excuse me,” he interjected before Haruta could rattle off more accusatory questions. “Who, exactly, is ‘just gone’?”  Haruta and the man’s attention snapped to her. Haruta looked highly troubled, and her tone matched.

“The man. The stowaway. Hare’s man. He’s gone. And we have _no idea_ how or where. We had a guard on the door _all night._ We searched him _head to toe_ for anything bearing the slightest _resemblance_ to a lock pick or a weapon. And the cell door _wasn’t even unlocked._ ” Marco’s concern had quadrupled in the last fifteen seconds.

_Ace can you hear me? I need you to lock the door, okay?_ Marco thought at him.

_Hmm?_ Ace thought back sleepily, clearly having been woken by Marco’s message.

_I need you to_ lock the door, _Ace. Somehow Hare’s man managed to escape and we don’t know where he is. I’ll be back in two minutes._

_Oh, you don’t have to worry about him,_ Ace drawled sleepily. _Cheshire says it’s a’right…_ he slurred, clearly on the very verge of falling back asleep.

Marco blinked, once, twice, trying to decipher the implications of that statement. He didn’t let himself consider it for more than a moment, though. There were more important things to think about now. He shot off two thoughts rapid-fire, the first to Whitebeard and the second to Thatch.

_Oyaji, somehow Hare’s man got out of his cell at an unidentified time last night and is most likely somewhere on the ship. Everybody should be up and searching as soon as possible. Thatch, Ace is in my room and I really, really,_ really _don’t want him alone while we don’t know where Hare’s man is. I want you there_ yesterday. _I’ll be down shortly as well. But Ace is never to be left alone for any length of time._

He returned his attention to Haruta. “I’ve let Oyaji know the situation. The search should be beginning as soon as humanly possible. Tell me, concisely, about any evidence in the cell area that could give us any kind of hint as to his location or intention.” Haruta looked bewildered at first, but she recognized the tone of command and responded immediately, saving any questions she may have for a more suitable time.

“As I said, the cell door was still firmly locked, and none of the bars were bowed or bent in such a way that he could have slipped between them. They are, as I’m sure you know, a very faint seastone alloy, just enough to keep any logia types from just sifting through them. So he couldn't have escaped using a devil fruit. And finally there are the guards, who claim that there were no disturbances during any of the watches. The only real evidence we have is a small bloodstain on the floor near the bars. We aren’t sure whose blood it is, though.” Marco pondered this for a moment.

“…Were there ever any periods of time where there wasn’t a guard present? I don’t care for how long. Were there even the briefest of breaks?” Marco asked. Haruta seemed to consider it.

“…One, maybe. The guard left for no more than two minutes to get dinner. But that’s not enough time for him to pick the lock, get out, inexplicably _relock_ the door, and then leave. Even _Thatch_ couldn’t do that in that timeframe.” Marco pondered this, turning over the facts in his head. It wasn’t sitting quite right. What was the point of escaping? They were in the _middle of the ocean_ , there was _nowhere to go._ Even if he had stolen a lifeboat and supplies, he was fucked. This was the _Grand Line._ He wouldn’t be able to find an island without a log pose before he ran out of food or water and died. So why escape? Why was the door locked? What about the blood on the floor, was that important? He couldn’t answer these questions.

“…I guess we’ll just have to ask him how and why when we find him. It shouldn’t take long to search the ship once everyone gets moving. Haruta, get your division up and going, I’ll check on Ace and start getting things organized. We need to be systematic, he’s already proven to be quite gifted at hiding in unique locations.” Haruta nodded and walked off briskly, the other member of her division trailing behind her. He could tell Oyaji was up and moving, could feel the steadfast resolve of his mind as he began ordering and directing people. He could also tell Thatch was with Ace, the two of them still holed up in Marco’s room. That was for the best. Ace wandering the ship – even guarded – while someone this crafty was sneaking around was a bad idea.

Ace didn’t seem frightened or upset about this development, which was good but concerned Marco. But perhaps just having Thatch there was enough to comfort him. Marco headed down the hallway quickly, walking fast. He’d quickly check in with Thatch and Ace, then head off to meet Oyaji and organize the crew into a systematic search effort.

His arm was grabbed, twisted behind his back, and before he could so much as process it, shackled to his neck. Marco instantly recognized the seeping, murderous cold of seastone. He tried to retaliate, whirling, lashing out with his elbow at whoever had done this, already knowing he was going to be too slow to do anything. His assailant dodged, moving with Marco so he stayed behind him and out of sight. Marco, in his instinctive retaliation, had overextended, and the attacker seized the opportunity, wrapping his arm around Marco’s, pulling it out to the side, bracing his forearm against the back of Marco’s neck. A knife appeared in his other hand, coming up to press the blade against his throat.

“You do know who you’re up against, don’t you?” Marco asked.

“Oh don’t worry. I did my homework, Marco. A lot of it. It took a lot of digging to find out about you. Even more to find one of the few blades still in existence that can kill you.” Marco stiffened, hearing the voice.

_Marco? What’s going on?_ And suddenly, it made sense. It made so much more sense. Why, exactly, Serpent had shut the door, had cut herself off from Ace at the expense of thinking she was going to die alone.

“You miscalculated,” Marco hissed.

“About what?” he asked, and Marco could hear the cool, satisfied victory in his voice. “You, Whitebeard, Ace, and Thatch’s little telecommunications stunt? No, Marco, I’m counting on it. Go ahead. Call for help. Deliver Ace right back into my hands.” Marco, fighting himself, suppressed all the turmoil and rage and surprise in him. He collected himself. He smoothed himself down, pressing away the emotions until he could feign calmness.

_Nothing, Ace. I was just surprised, coming around a corner and almost running into someone. Everything’s fine._ “To be honest, I _was_ planning to wait until we reached the next island, the escape would have been slightly easier. But then that _idiot_ Williams stranded himself here _and then got caught._ And now, _worse_ , he’s gone and _disappeared_ , leading you and your crew to this inspection of your entire ship. I knew you would have found me, so I moved first.”

“You’re being awfully _chatty,_ ” Marco sneered. “Aren’t you worried about someone finding us?”

“Am I? Perhaps it’s because I sense something of a _kindred spirit_ in you, Marco. It’s refreshing to talk to someone who’s capable of understanding. I’ve been observing you. You would have done everything I did to Ace and worse to Williams to get even a shred of information, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have flinched or shied away at all. I must say, I’m so very _eager_ to see how you break. I’ve always wondered what that would look like, in someone like us. As for being found…” He pulled Marco up straighter, pressing the knife tighter against his throat. “There’s nothing they can possibly do, not anymore. Whitebeard won’t risk your death for anything. He’ll even let me get away, _with you_ , rather than watch you die in front of him.”

“They’ll catch you. It doesn’t matter where you go, they’ll come get you.”

Edward Hare smiled amicably.

“Maybe someday. But not today, Marco. And not for a long, long time. Now,” he turned, putting his back to a wall, facing down the hallway. “I’m sure we’ll have company shortly. Someone will find us here, alert Whitebeard, and then Ace will know despite your admirable effort to conceal it from him. Whitebeard’s far too impulsive and emotional. Ace will pick it up from him in an instant.”

“He won’t come here. Even if he does figure it out. _Especially_ if he figures it out. He’s terrified of you, he’ll probably discover a way to _teleport_ when he finds out you’re on this ship. He doesn’t care about us, doesn’t remember that we’re his nakama. He won’t come, not for me,” Marco said.

Hare sighed. “Now this is just pathetic. You wouldn’t think I’d know your own brother better than you do. But I suppose personally vivisecting his personality piece by piece lends me more insight than most into his thought process. You don’t think he’ll come, Marco? Now _you’ve_ gone and miscalculated. You couldn’t have played your role better if I’d written a _script_ for you.” Marco felt unease clenching in his stomach. “’That makes us half-brothers, eh?’” Hare said, imitating Marco’s voice. Marco felt his whole body stiffen. “’I’d die a thousand times over for any of them! Why can’t _I_ be the one to suffer instead?!’” Hare repeated, this time pitching his voice up, imitating Ace. Hare laughed. “Oh Marco, you’ve done me so many favors. You’re going to be so _instrumental_ in finally tearing Ace down once and for all.” Marco felt cold, down to his very core.

_Marco talk to me, what’s wrong?! You’re not all right!_ Ace’s concern was obvious, flowing over the bond between them.

_Tell Whitebeard to come find me. Stay where you are, with Thatch. Stay. Where. You. Are,_ Marco responded, the last command thought firmly, authoritatively. He felt Ace’s surprise, but after a moment’s hesitation, he responded.

_…Promise you’re going to be okay, Marco,_ Ace thought. _I’ll do what you say if you promise you’re going to be okay._ Marco sucked in a breath.

_…I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep, Ace. But I’ll do my best._

“You spoke with him didn’t you?” Hare asked, grin clear in his voice. He sounded smug. Excited. “It doesn’t even matter what you said, he knows you’re in trouble now. He’ll come. You’ll see.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Marco snarled back. He mentally heard Ace telling Whitebeard something was very wrong with Marco, as well as his location. Marco had known if he had tried to send the thought directly to Whitebeard Ace would have intercepted and listened to it. That’s why he had to have Ace tell Whitebeard something was wrong, it was the easiest way to avoid letting anything slip about the exact nature of Marco’s predicament.

“Ah, here comes the circus,” Hare sneered, turning to face the approaching pirates, Whitebeard at their head. When Whitebeard’s eyes landed on Hare they widened, a full spectrum of emotion showing on his face. Hare grinned. “And now Ace knows exactly who has you and what’s going on.” Marco wanted desperately to disagree, but not a moment later he felt Ace’s whole thought process come to a screeching halt, focused on a singular image he’d pulled from Whitebeard’s mind after the whirlwind of his reaction. Ace passed it to Thatch and Marco saw Thatch’s mind shift from confusion to horror and rage in an instant.

“No further, if you please,” Hare called, tightening the knife against Marco’s throat, freezing Whitebeard and the crew in place. “The slightest hint of a wrong move and your dear phoenix is gone in an instant.”

“He knows I don’t fear death. He knows I’d rather die than go into captivity,” Marco snarled. Hare smiled at him.

“You might not fear your death but he does. Terribly. Death is permanent, but he thinks he can save you from me if I take you. He won’t act. And he won’t let anyone else act either. That’s why the whole crew is going to freeze, is going to be incapacitated. All except Ace, who doesn’t remember he’s even on the crew, and won’t obey. I did not miscalculate, Marco. This has all gone _exactly_ according to plan. Now, what’s going to happen next is elementary. Ace is going to ask Whitebeard why in hell he’s not doing anything. Whitebeard’s going to tell him I’m threatening to kill you. Ace will say death is better than what’s in store. Whitebeard won’t respond and won’t act. So Ace will take matters into his own hands.” It was almost terrifying, how accurately Hare was describing the current silent conversation Marco could overhear. It had yet to reach the conclusion Hare predicted, but it was heading that way fast. He knew them all so well, had analyzed them so perfectly, he could anticipate even their thoughts. It was horrifying, to be so predictable, to be nothing more than pawns Hare had manipulated so seemingly easily into the perfect string of event and reaction to get him exactly what he wanted.

“You were the one who killed Serpent too, weren’t you?” Marco asked. It would make sense. Ace, as fragile as he was after his captivity, was emotionally dependent. If Hare took away his main support, Hare knew Ace would latch onto someone else. He’d timed it perfectly too, so that Marco was closer to the body than Thatch, so that when Ace got there, he’d be the one there. He’d be the one Ace would latch onto.

“Of course,” Hare said. “I knew there was something I liked about you, Marco. You’re getting it now, you’re seeing the whole picture, aren’t you? Human emotion has degraded you, Marco. I’m sure you could have figured all of this out in a snap when you were younger. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to revitalize your true nature. But that’ll take longer than breaking Ace, so you’ll pardon me if that falls slightly lower on my priorities. Speaking of, he should be here any minute now.” Marco wanted to deny it, but then Hatter came running down the hallway, screaming at seemingly nothing, begging for reconsideration, that this couldn’t possibly solve anything, that he’d end up getting Marco killed more likely than not. Rabbit was just behind him, describing everything that awaited Ace, grinning manically, explaining every tiny agony he was sure to endure. Queen was after them, calling for blood and murder and retribution, his voice somewhat drowned out by Rabbit and Hatter.

Hare didn’t see them, couldn’t see them, but Marco’s heart shattered at their appearance. If they were here, Ace was too, somewhere.

_I thought you were_ WATCHING HIM! Marco shouted at Thatch. Thatch didn’t respond. After a minute, Marco figured out why, his eyes shooting wide.

Thatch was unconscious.

Ace had apparently _attacked Thatch_ to be able to get to Marco.

The Inhabitants skidded to a stop about five feet in front of Marco and Hare. “Ace, _don’t do this_ , there’s another, better way. Don’t _do_ this!” Hatter implored. Rabbit described what it would feel like when Hare ripped his fingernails off.

The grate on the vent above and a short ways behind Hare and Marco came crashing to the floor. Hare smiled, murmuring so only Marco could hear.

“Checkmate.”

Hare turned as Ace dropped out of the vent, a mere three feet away from them. He was pale. He was shaking. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated.

He was terrified.

But he was there, and he wasn’t running away.

“Ah, Ace. What a _pleasant_ surprise,” Hare said, smiling widely.

“L-Let him go, Hare,” Ace said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. Hare raised an eyebrow.

“Now why would I do something like that?” Hare asked. Marco understood. This was the next move in his game. Making Ace believe there was something he could do, that somehow he had power here, that he could divert this. And Ace would play right into his hands, like they all had since the beginning.

“Because it’s not him you really want,” Ace said. Ace was following through with perfect form and Marco knew, Hare had this perfect as well. Even if Marco warned Ace, tried to dissuade him, it would only further couch him in this futile effort to save him.

“Oh?” Hare asked, tipping his head slightly. God, how had they not _seen_ what this _bastard_ was capable of sooner?!

“You want me,” Ace said breathlessly. He was shaking so badly Marco thought they’d be able to hear his bones rattling soon. He swallowed, seemingly fighting himself to even get the next words out. “That’s why I’ll make you a deal. If you let Marco go, I’ll…” The words seemed to catch in his chest, as if even his body were desperately fighting with him to stop. “…I’ll go with you willingly. I’ll ne-never try to escape or f-fight back.” His voice grew progressively weaker with each word.

“What a positively _heroic_ sacrifice, Ace,” Hare mocked. He feigned confusion. “But why do it for Marco?” This was just a blow against Marco, Hare was setting him up to show him exactly how much he’d fucked up. Ace clenched his jaw, drawing himself up straighter.

“Because I promised I’d never let you hurt a member of _my family_ again.” And Marco _hated_ himself. He’d walked Ace right into Hare’s trap himself.

Hare smiled faintly. “Marco? Your family?” He laughed. Marco’s mind raced desperately, trying to figure out where Hare was taking this, what he was planning next, how to divert whatever it was from causing whatever pain it would to Ace. He finally subsided back into bare chuckles. “No, Ace. Marco is no family of yours. He _hates_ you.”

“Liar.” Ace said that with such assurance that Marco felt his heart break just that little bit more. But he still didn’t know what was happening, what Hare was up to, and as such couldn’t hope to deflect it.

“No, I’m not lying.” Hare looked down at Marco, smiling triumphantly. “Hey, Marco. Why don’t you tell Ace _what you told me_ about a certain Monkey D Luffy living in Fuuschia Village in East Blue?” Marco felt his heart stop, his eyes widening in horror. However instantaneously awful he felt, Ace seemed a thousand times worse. He looked like death, like every molecule of blood had evaporated from his body. He stared between Marco and Hare, looking so _betrayed_ Marco would have willingly cut out his own guts to make it better.

Ace’s mouth was slack with shock, his eyes swimming with agony. He bowed his head, staring at the ground, hiding his face and his pain behind his hair. He felt everything fall away around him, everything he’d ever believed turn to dust. His whole world had gone up in smoke around him, and now, _now_ he was willing to let go. “You broke it. I can’t believe it. You _broke_ it.”

“Broke what?” Hare asked, perplexed. Marco stared at Ace, his earlier words repeating in his head. _Something’s breaking, Marco. Something important._ The thousand apologies that had bubbled at his lips went dry. Only now did he realize how _silent_ the room had gone, the Inhabitants all vanished. _“We’re all undone.”_ Hatter’s words from earlier, overheard from Ace’s mind, echoed in his head.

Marco watched Ace raise his head slowly until he was staring at Hare. His eyes were wide, almost perfectly round, white visible all around the iris. His shaking had stopped.

His grin was wider than the human mouth was ever meant to bend.

_“Me.”_   



	52. Chapter 52

Ace stared at Hare for a long moment, the whole universe seemingly suspended in frozen silence. Everyone was staring at Ace, but Ace seemed to only care about Hare, his eyes locked solely on his face.

He giggled.

It started off quiet, but soon bubbled out of his chest, cleaving the silence like a razor. “You’ve done it!” he crowed. “Congratulations! You chased the little _bitch_ off my throne, you unlived all the Inhabitants! There was _no one to stop me!”_ Ace’s fingers were contorting horribly, strangely, at his sides. “Thanks, my dear, dear friend. You’ve given me back the chance to do as I promised I would!” The giggling, intermittent between his words, stopped abruptly. Ace’s head dropped, tilting horribly to one side. His grin never faltered, and his eyes seemed to widen even further.

“It’s rabbit hunting season!”

When Ace moved, it was so sudden and so fast, the space so short between them, there was no time for dodging or avoidance. Ace – still grinning, eyes still huge – leapt at Hare, grabbing the arm that held the knife, using his momentum and bodyweight to drag it out and away from Marco. It passed within a hair’s width of Marco’s neck and the three of them were sent spinning, reeling, all sense of balance destroyed by Ace’s sudden weight. There was a hideous pop, accompanied by a grunt of pain. Hare’s arm had been dislocated.

Hare released Marco’s arm, reaching for Ace, but Ace scurried up his dislocated arm, the one that had held the knife, wrapping his legs around Hare’s shoulder, using his hands to cling to his hair and back. He dragged Hare’s head to the side, further wrecking their balance, but seemingly uncaring. In the same fluid motion, he dropped his head. He sunk his teeth into Hare’s exposed ear.

Hare shouted, finally managing to grab Ace, and threw him off, across the hallway. Ace landed on his hands and feet, still grinning messily, face stained with blood. Clamped between his teeth was the majority of Hare’s ear.

Without even a moment’s hesitation or any flicker of doubt, he swallowed it.

Marco and Whitebeard could do no more than stare in horror.

“You know, your subordinate tasted a lot better. I had to crush his ribcage to get him to fit between the cell bars, and I couldn’t just let him scream. He would have attracted _attention._ ” Ace didn’t lift a hand to wipe the gore from his face. “I couldn’t have as much fun as I wanted to – tight timeframe and all – but I assure you, his eyes were delicious.” His eyes narrowed. “You though…I’m going to _savor_ your death, I’ve waited long enough for it.”

“Ace-“ Marco’s voice was breathless, stunned. Ace didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Stay the fuck out of this, Marco. If he did anything to Luffy, you’re next.” Despite the grin on his face, the words were said in a serious, unflinching tone. His eyes flicked to Marco for the briefest of instants. “Believe me, you’ll have _wished_ the little imposter fucked up and got you killed.” Ace’s attention shifted fully back to Hare. “Now, back to business. I’m sure you’re curious, to see how it all turned out, how I finally snapped, right? Sure. I’ll give you the tour. See the world that I made!” Ace threw his arms out to the side and a _massive_ wave of Haki surged outward, knocking even Marco and Whitebeard to their knees, knocking out almost everyone else.

When the darkness had faded from his vision, what he saw took Marco’s breath away.

It was disorienting, unnaturally bright color smashed against the once-familiar wood of the Moby Dick. The air had that same hanging, stagnant, ever-present heaviness to it that Wonderland’s air had. Tree roots of some kind punctured the wood of the ceiling, winding along the top of the hallway. The walls were spattered with blood, a trail of it leading down the hallway, as if someone had been running from something after being _heavily_ injured.

Ace’s gaze remained firmly fixed on Hare, who had recovered from the burst of Haki by now as well. “Go on!” he snarled. “Go explore! Go _run_ , little rabbit! Give me a _chase!_ _See what you made of my mind!_ I even reawakened the Inhabitants for you! _”_ Hare’s gaze flicked for an instant away from Ace, to the arm that hung limply at his side. Ace giggled. “You know you could reset that if you got far enough away from me that I’d let you. Better run fast!”

Hare didn’t hesitate, turning and sprinting down the hallway. Ace laughed, instantly darting after him, scrambling on all fours. “Yes! Yes!” he shouted. “Faster! You need to run faster, or your own Mr. Savage will catch you!” They rounded a corner, quickly moving out of sight. Marco and Whitebeard, the only two still standing after the Haki blast, stared after them. They were both silent, neither able to conjure words in response.

“I tried to tell you. I tried.” Marco and Whitebeard’s heads whipped towards the source of the noise.

Hatter reclined against the wall, staring despairingly down at his hands. His eyes looked dull, all light burned out of them. Whitebeard still seemed at a loss for words, but Marco’s voice slipped breathily out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“How did Cheshire get control?” he asked quietly. Hatter’s face turned to a snarl and he spun to face him directly, hands clenching into fists.

“How can _you_ of all people, the one who he was _controlling_ , _still_ not get it?!” he snapped. “You might as well call him by his _fucking real name_. Oh wait. You were too idealistic and _idiotic_ to see he was lying to you!”

“Whose real name?” Whitebeard asked, face still holding that stunned, horrified expression. Hatter shifted to glare at him.

“Cheshire’s of course.”

“And what is it?” Marco asked. Hatter turned his glare on him for a moment, then seemed to deflate, slumping back against the wall. He looked resigned. Defeated.

“We did everything we could. I swear we did. We taught him everything we could, we kept Cheshire away from him, didn’t ever let Mr. Savage chase him off the throne. We did _everything we could._ We taught him how to behave. But we fucked up. Because Cheshire hated Hare enough and Mr. Savage and Hare scared our little protégé enough that Cheshire tore him down anyway.” Hatter looked up at Whitebeard and Marco, something like regret in his eyes. “You want to know Cheshire’s real name?

“Portgas D Ace.”

* * *

Hare rounded another corner, darting through a doorway. After his several weeks of hiding aboard the ship, he had a perfect mental map of the place. He knew his best bet to lose Ace was in taking a complex, winding path, to get out of his line of sight and stay hidden long enough to reset his shoulder and put himself back at full combat capability.

He’d torn a piece of fabric from his shirt and had it clutched to his bleeding ear, preventing himself from leaving a traceable trail. He knew he wasn’t bleeding enough for it to be life-threatening, but with even non-lethal bloodloss came symptoms like lightheadedness, dizziness, sluggish reaction-time…he wanted to conserve as much blood as possible to avoid these symptoms. They could definitely lead to lethal slip-ups.

As he passed through the threshold, he felt his boot collide with something, sending it skittering and clattering across the floor.

It was a pair of silver, blood-soaked scissors.

“Oh, you’ve finally come to see the baby!” Hare’s attention snapped up towards the voice.

The creature before him was pale, paler than any human. It was entirely naked, hermaphroditic. It’s stomach had a massive, still-bleeding gash across it, deep enough that Hare could see bared muscle and ruptured organ. The creature didn’t seem to care at all about this, its arms cradled to its chest, holding another creature.

It was a piglet, its skin just as colorless as its apparent mother. It was perfectly still in her arms, neither breathing nor moving. Hare tried to keep moving, to walk over to and pass through the next door on the other side of the room, but found himself paralyzed, frozen in place.

The piglet, in a slow, perfectly smooth movement, turned its head to look at him.

It had a human mouth.

Its lips parted, revealing a perfectly human set of teeth and tongue as well, and it _screamed_. Its voice was hideous, like metal grating on metal, piercing and deafening. The noise went on far longer than its tiny lung capacity should have allowed, ceaseless, never pausing.

The larger creature stood, walking towards him, careless of its intestines spilling out of the gash in its stomach. It was smiling faintly at him, eyes wide, hopeful.

“Don’t you want to hold your baby? He looks _just like you!”_

* * *

“You’re confused, yes?” Hatter asked, looking resignedly between Whitebeard and Marco. “You shouldn’t be. Not if you’d really, _really_ think about it.

“We’ll start at the beginning. When Wonderland was created, it was because Ace had broken. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t deal with what Hare did to him, and he snapped. But in that last moment, in a desperate attempt at self-preservation, his mind created us, the Inhabitants. One for each personality trait of the old Ace, the one before Hare. We aren’t the originals. Each of the _actual_ personality traits is still bound in Ace’s – Cheshire’s – psyche. It’s not like we were strained away and separated out. We’re all still a part of him. He just doesn’t listen anymore. We knew that this Ace couldn’t go back to the real world. He was destructive, impulsive, violent, _horrible._ He’d tear apart anything that moved, believing it to be some kind of threat to him or his family – that being the only lasting remnant of who he was before. You don’t have to worry, Whitebeard. Ace will never harm you or your crew. He knows you to be family. He’d tear apart the rest of the world for you, but never you with it.”  Hatter tipped his head slightly. “…Well, excepting Marco. You have lost your privileged, _safeguarded_ place as Ace’s brother. If you get in his way, he _will_ kill you, Marco.” Hatter shook his head.

“In any case, when we fragmented off, Ace created Wonderland. _His_ paradise. Didn’t it ever seem strange that the one you know as Ace never seemed to fit in there? If the place had truly been created as _his_ refuge, it should have been suited far more to his likes and needs. But the original, it’s perfect for him. Competitive, violent, _brutal._ It’s everything he wants – the chance to kill, to tear apart, to ruin as he’d been ruined, endlessly. So…” Hatter sighed. “…he stayed down there. We knew _someone_ had to take control and that it couldn’t be him. So we chose an Inhabitant. Selected one to be the _new_ Ace. He had to be selected _very_ carefully, if we wanted the end result to be any kind of balanced person. After much debate we settled on one.

“The Knave of Hearts. He represented Ace’s empathy. He was the _perfect_ choice because above all else, he was impressionable. We taught him how to be human, or at least the basics of normal human behavior and thinking. Just the basics. Everything else would take longer. Then, when he was ready enough, we battled Cheshire for him. We bound him to a different form, forcing him to _not_ look like Ace, forcing him to look the furthest from Ace – the furthest even from _human_ – of any of us. It was of the _utmost importance_ that the Knave – _Ace_ – not recognize him for who he really was. The old Ace was rechristened Cheshire, the Knave his new, unbroken surrogate. We stole the key from Cheshire, passing it to our new Ace. The Caucus Race had begun.

“We carefully deleted the Knave’s memories of the training. We left the implanted lessons, but deleted his recollection of learning them. He awoke next to ‘his’ body. It’s why the men who raped Ace weren’t there – they’d been gone for days. It’s why he subliminally recognized us, even if he didn’t remember our names. And as he passed through Wonderland, we taught him a little more about being human, about being _independent._ It came as a slight surprise when Cheshire played along, but Cheshire desired to stay in Wonderland. He needed someone to take care of the body, though. If the body dies, Cheshire dies with him. So he was willing to let Ace take his place.

“The Caucus Race concluded, as you know, with Ace’s victory. The Jabberwocky was a bit of a hiccup – Cheshire was letting Ace use the Haki however he pleased, and the way he defined the Jabberwocky, as the guardian of the Location, safeguarding it from all the Inhabitants except the original Ace almost got him destroyed, but Cheshire ultimately helped him pull through unscathed. So Ace woke up. And we kept teaching him what it meant to be a functional human being.” Hatter looked between Marco and Whitebeard seriously.

“And so, over the next years, we taught him to be a perfect replica of Ace before what Hare did to him. The fact that the memories of the torture weren’t technically his own was enough disassociation to spare this Ace the same breakdown his predecessor suffered. Ace, as you know him, is everything Cheshire would have grown to be if Hare hadn’t destroyed him. As time passed, we taught him how Ace would respond to different situations. Personality is just the differences, from person to person, in response to all the stimuli the world provides. After us reinforcing who Ace was through reactions for _years_ , he’s grown to almost entirely accept that role himself. We very, very rarely need to advise him anymore. By the time you know him, he is, essentially, his own individual.” Hatter looked down.

“…There have been… _incidents_ , though. The original doesn’t want to die. Won’t _let_ Ace die until he decides it’s okay. And on top of this, he did incite Ace to track down the members of Hare’s crew, particularly those who had raped him. And when he found them…well. Cheshire has always been the one to mete out the punishment for that. Messy, gruesome business. Massacres at Marine bases. Violence to a degree the news wasn’t sure whether to blame a human or an animal. Marco remembers, he almost figured it out in Queen’s palace before Cheshire stopped him. When Ace – the adult – saw Hare again, it would have been his first regression in nearly two years, if you hadn’t stopped him. You’ve been a massively positive influence on him-“

“But it isn’t the personality he was born with,” Whitebeard said, cutting Hatter off. His mind was still fighting to absorb all of this. Hatter had stated the facts of it plainly enough, but to wrap his head around the fact that _his own son_ had been suppressed inside his own mind?

“No, _not_ your own son,” Hatter said vehemently. “The Ace you know is your son. The original – although he’s accepted you now – never would have joined your family. Ace is your son. And Cheshire was never ‘suppressed’, he elected to remain in Wonderland. It’s paradise for him.” The fact that Hatter could hear his thoughts was somehow nauseating. “I know you find the fact that maybe ‘Ace’ hasn’t technically always _been_ Ace upsetting, but you’re being _ridiculous._ This is the first time you’ve ever even _met_ the original in reality! The original _isn’t_ the son and brother you all love and want back!” Hatter’s gaze turned darker. “The original is someone who would crush a man’s ribcage so he could pull him through the bars of a cell. The original is someone who would eat out a man’s eyes purely for the pain it induces. You just watched the original bite off a man’s ear without hesitating or flinching. Does this sound like your brother, your son to you? The original is not your brother. The original is not your son. The original might not even be logically considerable as _human_ anymore. Wonderland is the only place the original can ever belong now. Don’t be conflicted about bringing _Ace_ , as he was always _meant to be_ , back.” Hatter pushed off the wall, moving to walk down the hallway, away from them.

“Don’t ever tell any of this to Ace. If he’s ever made aware that he’s not technically the one who should be in control of the body, it will destabilize his rule. If you want to see so badly exactly who you think your son is, the personality he was ‘born with’, which you seem to attribute so much value to, head up to the deck. The original is herding Hare that way. Watch the show, and see if you believe - _truly_ believe - that it’s your child performing it.”

* * *

Hare had managed to gain enough ground to have time to relocate his shoulder, but now he was directly in front of Ace. They were on the deck now – the larger space made dodging and maneuvering easier. Hare had drawn his sword, which occupied his left hand, and a wicked-looking dagger, which occupied his right. Ace had drawn no weapons – neither carrying them nor Synthesizing them, though he was surely capable of it. Instead, weaponless, he stood before Hare, grinning.

They faced off, silently assessing each other.

Ace moved first, darting across the deck, not even _trying_ to get in Hare’s blind spot. Hare reacted instantaneously, strafing left, using the length of the sword to keep Ace at a greater distance. Ace merely dropped to all fours again, sliding just beneath the skilled sword strike, leaping up, getting too close to Hare for him to effectively use the sword. The knife was still a threat, though, and left a thin, bleeding line along Ace’s shoulder when he lunged at him.

Hare dodged back, putting distance between them again as Ace surveyed the damage to his torso, pressing a hand to the wound and lifting it away bloody. He giggled, raising the hand to his mouth and licking the blood off his fingers. “I’m glad you’re making this fun, rabbit. It would have been _such_ a disappointment if you had just keeled over like everyone else has.” He pressed his thumb to the top of the shallow gash, tracing over it. Behind his thumb’s progress, fresh, undamaged skin followed. Metamorphosis really was a handy trick. He turned his grin back to Hare. “Too bad you and I don’t operate on the same level.” And he was off again, moving so fast it was almost unbelievable.

This time, Hare was more careful. Ace saw how his eyes tracked every movement, how perfectly he was able to predict every move based purely on the tensing of his muscles before he acted. Hare was able to keep him at bay with the sword this time, the length of it keeping him out of attacking range. It was a rapier, which meant it was light and quick, darting out to intercept him perfectly every time he tried to attack.

Ace hated it fiercely.

He stopped himself short in the middle of a lunge headed towards Hare, saw how Hare reacted to the move, anticipating Ace to continue attacking regardless of threat until it was nearly life-threatening, as he had been for the last whirl of attacks and parries. This time, when Hare stabbed at him, Ace didn’t move to dodge it.

He lifted his arm to intercept it.

The sword slid flawlessly through his forearm, with him jerking his head to the side just in time to avoid being stabbed through the skull. It had gone right between his radius and ulna bones, impaling his arm almost dead center. His own blood sprayed hot and sticky on his face as he turned his face to Hare, still grinning.

“I’ll be taking this now.”

And before Hare could pull it back, Ace grabbed the front end of the blade, the part protruding from his arm, and twisted away, pinning the sword between the bones of his arm, using them to lever the sword out of Hare’s hand.

Now it was his turn to dodge back. Hare looked uncertain, looking Ace up and down analytically as if he were trying desperately to figure out what in hell was going on. Ace pried his hand off the blade, having to pull a bit harder since the force of his grip had embedded it in his phalanges and metacarpal bones. His blood smeared on the silver hilt of the rapier, dousing it in crimson, as he grabbed it. He ripped it out of his arm, unflinching, uncaring about the pain.

His arm had been mangled by the disarming maneuver. It was bleeding heavily, the skin and muscle between the two bones mangled horribly. This would have been a fatal injury to anyone else, the severe bloodloss leading to death in a matter of minutes. It’s why Hare hadn’t expected the move. But Ace merely stared down at the injury, lifting it up as if to show it off, and watched as, through will alone, he stitched it back together, repeating the process with his hand. Once he was done, he moved his eyes to Hare.

“Do you see how fucked you are yet?” he asked, grinning hugely. Hare didn’t respond.

Ace didn’t keep the rapier. He tossed it uncaringly over his shoulder, hearing it splash into the sea. “I think it’s time to end this little game. I’m anxious to tear you apart.” He extended the forefinger of his right hand, lifting the thumb, making a gun shape of his hand. He closed one eye, pointing it at Hare’s leg.

“Bang.”

Hare screamed, collapsing back against the railing of the ship. His leg burst as if he’d been shot, fragments of bone and muscle shooting out the back side. Ace cocked his head, grinning. “You know, this looks terribly familiar. I won’t be throwing you off the side this time, though. No. I’m doing the job _right_ this time. Now,” he pointed the gun at Hare’s other leg. “why not take a seat?” Hare only had time to widen his eyes. “Bang.”

Hare screamed again, collapsing to the deck, back against the railing. Ace was before him in an instant, grinning wide enough to show his gums, and Hare slashed at him with the knife, Ace effortlessly catching his wrist, halting the blow. “My reality, my rules. How does it feel to have your legs shattered, hmm?” Ace was slowly tightening his grip on Hare’s wrist, the bones creaking under his grip. Hare scrabbled instinctively at his arm with his other hand, but it had no effect on Ace. Hare tried to hide the pain behind a snarl, but when the bones finally shattered and Ace continued to cinch down, grinding them horribly against one another, Hare couldn’t repress another scream of agony, the dagger falling from his hand. Ace grabbed for it instantly with his other hand and, in the same motion, stabbed it through Hare’s palm, pinning his hand to the railing. Hare reached for the knife with his other hand, to draw it out, but Ace grabbed this wrist, pinning it down to the deck with one of his own hands. He moved fluidly, driving the fingers of his other hand into Hare’s shoulder and unhesitatingly moving down and away, ripping an enormous swath of skin off his arm. Hare’s eyes widened and he screamed again, Ace flippantly tossing the enormous strip of human skin away.

 _“Checkmate,”_ Ace sneered gleefully, repeating Hare’s earlier word.

He drew his arm back only slightly before driving his bare hand into Hare’s chest, just below his sternum. Hare’s back arched as he _shrieked_ , inarticulate, poignant _agony_ expressed perfectly through sound. Ace didn’t flinch at all, not at the screaming, not at Hare’s blood spattering his whole face and chest. Instead, he bowed his head, sinking his teeth into the exposed meat of Hare’s arm as he tried to lift it to push Ace away. He ripped a chunk of muscle from Hare’s arm, not even chewing before he swallowed it, his hand still stirring around in Hare’s guts.

He pulled his face back from Hare’s arm, his hair, face, shoulders, hands, and chest completely stained with gore, still grinning from ear to ear. “You know what I’d do if I had all the time in the world?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response. “I’d eat your liver. Well…half of it. I’d leave enough so that you’d still be alive when I pulled every tiny bone from your hand. And then fed you your other eye. And then scalped you, and packed your hair into your eye sockets. And…well, a whole lot of things. But unfortunately, I _don’t_ have all the time in the world. See, we’ve got this _audience_. And I don’t think they’re enjoying the show too much. So we’ve got to cut it short. But don’t fret, I’ve found quite a lovely way of killing you.” Ace giggled. “Stomach acid does such _lovely_ things to the other internal organs when it’s released! I’m sure you’ll agree!” The muscles in Ace’s arm flexed, his hand embedded in Hare’s chest obviously doing something. He removed it quickly, everything below his wrist stained pure crimson.

The screaming only lasted about a minute. By the time it stopped, Hare had lost so much blood that pain wouldn’t really be felt anymore. Ace had done no more than sit there and watch, unmoving, gaze fixed on Hare’s face, watching every minute agony pass over it gleefully. Now, on the verge of death, outside of pain, Hare fought with himself, mustering the power to speak one last time.

“I should have fucking known,” he murmured, too weak to speak any louder.

“Oh! The rabbit can still talk! Got some last words, do you?” Ace asked, the edge of a hysterical giggle in his voice.

“You were never…special. You weren’t some…something new or…interesting.” Hare’s eyes, free of pain, were sharp with hate. “You broke…just like the damn _bitch_ …you always have been.” Hare’s lips pulled back into a tiny, weak grin. “And I’ll be there…when you finally choke yourself on your collar.”

And just like that, Edward Hare was dead.

Just like any other man. He stopped breathing. His heart stopped beating. It wasn’t beautiful or unique. It was commonplace. And just like that, even _knowing_ the atrocities he’d committed, even _knowing_ he undoubtedly deserved to die, Edward Hare became human again in Whitebeard’s eyes. Human, as he’d always been. Fucked up and cruel and vindictive and not worthy of life, but human.

He’d just watched Ace mercilessly torture another human being to death.

Ace, after staring for another few moments at the corpse, stood, turning to face Whitebeard and Marco, who had come onto the deck just in time to see Ace shoot Hare’s legs from under him. His hands were dripping blood, just about every part of him spattered and stained with it.

“So, did you enjoy the show?” he asked, grin as wide as ever. Whitebeard felt nauseous. Ace raised his eyebrows. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” He looked at his hands, rubbing them against each other, smearing the blood around absent-mindedly. “I’m guessing Hatter explained things, like I told him to?” Whitebeard didn’t even have it in him to nod. Ace chuckled. “You’re so stupid. You could have seen this coming if you’d paid enough attention. Well, anyway.” Ace turned, voice nonchalant.

“Hare’s dead now, so I’m heading back to Wonderland. I’ll give you your little replica back. I’ll even use Metamorphosis once I’m back in Wonderland to return to my actual age. I’ll give him back the memories, too, so he doesn’t wake up and flip shit. All in all, things will go _perfectly_ back to normal, and there will be _no_ mention of _any_ of this to my surrogate.” His voice had gone sharp in the span of the last sentence. He grinned back at Whitebeard and Marco.

“Like Hatter said, I prefer Wonderland. Don’t fuck it up for me so that I have to come back up here. Such a betrayal…well. My _father_ would never be capable of such a thing. So don’t kick yourself out of my family, hmm? Bad things tend to happen to those I don’t care about.” He turned his gaze to Marco.

“As for _you_ , the only reason you’re not like that,” he gestured to Hare’s mutilated body, “is because my sensory Haki says Luffy’s still in East Blue and that Hare’s crew are on their way here, without him. Clearly they were going to pick me and Hare up first before going to get Luffy. You lucked out, Marco.” His gaze shifted to menacing, but the grin remained firm. “But if you ever put a _toe_ out of line again, don’t doubt that I will murder you. You’re no brother of mine, not anymore.”

He looked between the two of them. “I’m sure you two can take care of Hare’s little underlings. I took away all the illusions of Wonderland I put on the ship already, and the rest of the crew will be waking up soon. They’ll have serious headaches, at worst. I was careful with my brothers’ fragile little minds.” Some mix of dread and resignation was stirring sickeningly in Whitebeard’s gut.

How had things changed so very, very much, in the span of so little time?

“The little fake will be unconscious for a little while. It always takes some time for him to come back after I unlive him. But he should be back before sunset.” He looked between Marco and Whitebeard before turning his gaze across the deck, staring at Edward Hare’s body for a moment, eyes narrowing in triumph and delight.

“…Well, I’ll be off now.” He turned back to Marco and Whitebeard, grin identical to his feline version. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing you again for quite some time. So before I go, let me give you one last piece of advice.” His eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion.

“Kill Marshall D Teach.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He who makes a beast of himself removes himself from the pain of being human." - Dr. Samuel Johnson


	53. Final Notes

Up front, allow me to say this. This isn't a chapter. Yes, that last one really was the end. This is just a collection of final stuff I thought would be cool to share with you guys. This will be split up into sections, which you can peruse at your own interest. They are:

**Explanation of Ending**

**Referenced Works by Other People**

**Deleted Scenes**

**Fun Facts**

**Psychological Explanation for each Inhabitant**

**The "Soundtrack" of Kill the Rabbit**

**Foreshadowing Guide**

**A Sneak Preview of the One-Shot Sequel,** **Gas the Warren**

**A Sneak Preview of my new story,** **Sing**

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**Explanation of Ending:**

You guys didn't seem to pick up on it, or at least not on the full implications of it. That's okay, it's kinda subtle. Basically, that whole bit where Cheshire's talking to Whitebeard, saying how everything will go back to normal? Basically, there was an implicit threat there. Essentially, he's saying he'll return Ace to his actual age and that he'll take away Ace's memories of what he did to Hare (if he remembered that, he'd know that Cheshire was the real Ace and wouldn't have been able to maintain control anymore), and so Ace (the Knave) will  _think_  that everything's okay. And he's threatening Whitebeard and Marco into playing along. This is explained when Cheshire says "Such a betrayal…well. My  _father_  would never be capable of such a thing. So don't kick yourself out of my family, hmm? Bad things tend to happen to those I don't care about." He's essentially saying "things better go back to fucking normal so Ace (the Knave) doesn't figure it out or else when I'm forced to come back up here I will wreck you." So when he says things will go perfectly back to normal, he's  _forcing_  them to go back to normal, and threatening horrible consequences otherwise. So Whitebeard, Marco, and everyone else have to behave like everything's perfectly fine or else they're  _fucked._

Also, the last line is meant to tie the fic back into canon. At this point in the timeline, Teach hasn't done anything wrong. Thatch is still alive, the devil fruit hasn't been found yet…for all intents and purposes, Teach is still a good guy right now. So even despite Ace's warning, they don't kill him. Because Ace is  _crazy_  and thus far Teach seems like a good guy. And not listening to Cheshire's advice ends up getting them completely screwed over.

Questions, comments, concerns? Send me a PM or, if you don't have an account, email me at missmountain97 at g mail dot com (take out spaces and supply indicated punctuation)

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**

**Referenced Works by Other People:**

Just a list of what I drew from other books/videogames/movies/etc.

Brave New World: A dystopian novel that I found absolutely fascinating. The name Mr. Savage and the quote "everyone's happy these days" are direct pulls from the book.

Dune: Another novel, this time a sci-fi. The quote "I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer. I must face my fear and I will stand against it and it will pass through me. Then there will be nothing left. Only I will remain." Is something the main character, Paul Atrades (I probably spelled that wrong. It's been forever since I read that book) says/thinks occasionally.

American Mcgee's Alice/Alice: Madness Returns: The Cheshire Cat's appearance, as well as his (in my headcanon) voice. I also borrowed a few of his quotes from the games. Also, the little nursery-rhyme thing Sabo sings in Ace's nightmares comes from Madness Returns.

Alice is Dead: seriously, this is one of the best (if not  _the_  best) point-and-click games I've ever played. The idea for Savage Wonderland's Caterpillar's Domain bears a striking resemblance to the scenery from Alice is Dead pt3, and the conversation Marco has with the druggie is also in some ways similar to a conversation in the game. The song sung in the Wyrm Hole was introduced to me by this game.

Okami: Surprised? The idea for the appearance of the Black Widow in chapter 12 was actually based – in part – on the Spider Queen of Okami. If you have a Wii, I highly recommend this game.

The Nightangel Trilogy: My favorite book series of all time. I've reread the first book six times. I highly recommend it to all of you. The reference is again in the fight with the Black Widow. The way she's able to rearrange the bones and muscles of her body is similar to a creature from these books: the Ferali.

Assassin's Creed: Great games. Have an xbox or a playstation? Get'em. They're worth your time. The weapon Ace had, the hidden knife on the underside of his arm? Based on the hidden blade, specifically the model from Assassin's Creed 2. Also, the name Altair is borrowed both from this game and actual history as Altair was a real Middle-Eastern general. The Enlightened/the Ancients/other-assorted-names-for-them are also partly based on The Ones Who Came Before.

Donnie Darko: Great movie. Watch it. Frank will scare you. Probably. Anyway, the White Rabbit's appearance was partially based on Frank from Donnie Darko. I did alter his appearance, but specifically his ears always, in my mind, looked all twisted and bent and weird like Frank's.

Soul Eater: WATCH THIS ANIME. It's seriously amazing. I pulled several quotes from it, one of which Sabo says in one of Ace's nightmares: "It's time to shed your fake skin." Some more quotes are said by Mr. Savage in his confrontation with Marco, Whitebeard, and Thatch. These are mainly pulled from the Kishin.

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess: Great game. Seriously. Probably my favorite game of all time. I kind of based some of Dead Hatter's movements and behaviors on Zant from the near-end of the game.

Auntie Nadeshiko's 100 Days of Ace Being a Buttwipe: If you haven't read this Ace fanfiction, you have not lived. Anyway, I don't actually know if Selma is a real character of One Piece or not, but either way I pulled her from this story. Go read it! It's really good!

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**Deleted Scenes:  
** Some of these will be actual clips that just didn't make it into the story, some will just be synopses of things I didn't write.

1) For a while, I was planning on having Ace actually go to attack Marco there at the very end and have a Ghost!Sabo show up and get him to stop. Ghost!Rouge had already made several appearances I thought it was only fair to give him one, but it didn't end up flowing correctly, so I didn't do it.

2) Originally I was going to post an alternate ending to Kill the Rabbit, one in which Hare, in his last moments, says that he never did anything to Ace. Says that Ace had just been crazy all along, that he'd killed an entire island of people and the marines had been called in to help. Hare had been his doctor until Ace escaped. Marco would be disbelieving, would talk about all the memories Ace had shown them, all the things they'd seen Hare do. Hare would reply, saying Ace had made them believe in talking cats, in 8-foot-tall rabbits. How hard would forging memories be? And Marco would be left in utter confusion of what to do. He'd go to confront Ace about it, and when he talks about what Hare said before he died, Ace would just turn to him and say, "You believe a Marine over your own brother?" Then he'd grin, saying, "…How positively  _savage._ " And I'd just leave you all hanging there and you wouldn't know if Ace was really crazy or if Hare had lied. But I decided the other one was better, as I couldn't really do a sequel with this ending.

3) If Kill the Rabbit were to be a movie, the credits would be interesting. The credits  _music_  would be "Dream a Little Dream of Me" by the Mamas and Papas. As the song is playing, the camera would move through Wonderland, going through every place the trio visited on their way to get Ace back. As it goes, it shows each of the Inhabitants not dead but unlived. Violently unlived. The Gate to the Tulgy Wood to Hatter's Domain to Caterpillar's Domain to the Duchness' Room to the Red Palace. Finally it would switch to a shot of just this white, square room with Ace inside, his back to the camera. The wall he's facing would be covered in streaks of blood, and he'd be scratching at the walls, fingers all torn up and bloody from doing it for apparently a long time. Finally, before the music ends, he'd turn and face the camera and you'd see he was grinning hugely. That he was Cheshire. Or that Cheshire was him.

OKAY HERE ARE ACTUAL PARTIAL SCENES I'D WRITTEN. THE STUFF IN PARENTHESES SHOWS YOU GENERALLY WHAT THE CONTEXT AND CONTENT ARE AND SERVE AS DIVIDERS BETWEEN THE DIFFERENT SCENES

(Young Ace has woken up on the Moby Dick. He knows Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard have seen his memories and Wonderland. Angstiness.)

"No, Ace. Never. It's not true. Hare didn't win." There were tears in Ace's eyes, but they hadn't fallen yet.

"How can you believe that?" Ace staggered back a few steps and threw his arms wide. "Look at me! What part of me looks like Hare didn't win? My body's broken and my mind isn't in such great shape either!" A sob tried to force itself up Ace's throat but he choked it back. "I broke. I couldn't take the pressure and I broke. I got two people killed in horrendous ways, and then I  _submitted to the man who killed them._ I  _lost._  That's all there is to it. My failure. My complete, inexcusable  _failure._ "

"No, Ace. Never. You survived, you won. You got your freedom back, you got away from him." Ace laughed bitterly at that, a hard, mirthless sound.

"Oh really? I'm not so sure.  _Every single fucking night_  I have to relive all of it! I can't forget, (Marco, Thatch, Whitebeard), and every day I get closer to breaking  _and I'm so damn sick of it!_  I hate it! I hate this! I hate being scared all the time! I hate jumping at every tiny noise and flinching every time someone so much as  _looks_  at me!" Ace fell back against the wall and sunk to its base, sitting against it. He pressed the bases of his palms against his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I hate myself for it. I'm so…pathetic. Worthless. Disgusting. And I could tell. I could see it in all their eyes. I wasn't even human to them. Just an object. A possession." Ace spat the words like they burned his tongue. "They looked at me like I was just a  _toy_." Ace shuddered, trying hard to keep from breaking down. The next words were almost inaudible. "…Sometimes I agree with them. I don't feel like a person anymore, (Marco, Thatch, Whitebeard). I don't feel like I'm even human anymore."

(After Ace wakes up. Angstiness/Cheshire)

"What's this, now?" Jericho was holding Sabo's notebook, turning it about in his hand. Ace stared at him evenly.

"Give it back. It's mine." Jericho looked down at him.

"Oh really? And why's it so important to you?" He sneered mockingly. "You keep a diary in here?" Ace's eyes were hard. Part of him wanted to shrink back, to cringe away, but he would  _not_  allow anything to happen to that book.

"Give it back. Now." Jericho flipped open the first cover and turned to the first page. He blanched.

" _Poetry?_  Who the hell writes  _poetry?"_  Ace's hands closed into fists. Jericho flipped through the other pages, never actually stopping to read any of Sabo's words. Jericho was exactly the kind of man that Sabo had been subjected to all his life. He didn't see the beauty in the poetry, in the minute worlds Sabo described, and he didn't even bother trying. That kind of man did  _not_  deserve to be holding something that contained that much of Ace's brother expressed on paper.

"Give. It. Back.  _Now._ " Jericho snapped the book shut and met Ace's eyes evenly.

"And why should I do that?"

"It's not yours and you don't even want it. Give it back." Jericho looked down at Ace with disdain apparent on his face.

"Or what? You've always been Oyaji's favorite. I never could understand just what made you so great. You're nothing. Just a pathetic weakling. You want your book back? Little bitches like you should know how to beg by now." Ace glared up at Jericho and Jericho met his eyes evenly. "Well?" Ace didn't move, only continued to glare up at the man before him. Jericho sighed. "A pity, really." He opened the book, flipping through the pages.

The sound the page made as it was torn out of the book might as well have been Sabo screaming for the effect it had on Ace.

His heart instantly froze in his chest and his eyes widened. He watched the page float down to the floor, watched it turn in the light. His heart resumed beating. The page had been blank. Jericho reached for another page and this time Ace could see it had writing.  _The Crab._  Ace wouldn't do it. Wouldn't allow Jericho to destroy the last poem Sabo had written before he died. His pride was insignificant by comparison. Ace hastily raised his hands.

"Don't!" Jericho paused, holding the page taut, still ready to tear it out. He raised an eyebrow. Ace swallowed thickly. "Don't." Ace lowered his hands, then looked at the floor.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, Ace moved. One knee bent first, then the other. Ace bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Ace knelt before Jericho.

It was a position of total submission. He was seated back on his heels, eyes downcast, hands resting on his thighs. All his weight was on his knees and ankles, and  _damn_  if it didn't hurt his still-healing legs. After a moment of silence, he moved further, bending his spine so that his forehead touched the floor briefly before straightening back to his former position. He kept his head bowed, staring at the ground between Jericho's feet.

"Please. Please give it back." He could almost feel Jericho's triumphant sneer on the back of his scalp. He hated this position, it reminded him too much of how he had felt around Hare. He felt completely inferior, too submissive to fight back against anything Hare might have planned. He felt degraded in a way he hadn't since that night of pure hell when he had become nothing more than an object, a doll, a  _toy._  Ace hated this position, but that didn't matter right now. He'd remain like this forever so long as he didn't lose the last piece he had of his brother. Slowly, very slowly, Ace raised his head and looked Jericho in the eye, keeping his fear and his anger off his face and out of his eyes. "Please." Jericho smiled down at him.

"No."

His grip on the page tightened.

* * *

Marco was on his way back to his room, juggling a stack of papers, a mug of coffee, a box and a bag of documented profits and incomes, and the none-too-light expenses ledger. The book was balanced on his palm, the papers under his arm, the coffee mug in his other hand, and the box full to overflowing with other finance records under that arm while he clenched the strap of the bag that contained everything that wouldn't fit into the box in his teeth.

It was a surprisingly efficient way of carrying everything, and as long as nobody got in his way and he didn't slip on anything he'd be fine. He rounded the corner, beginning to head down the corridor to his room.

Marco slowed his pace, brows furrowing. Something was off. He felt…weird. Almost…lightheaded. No, that wasn't quite it. It was more like he had entered a completely silent room after being in a noisy one for a long time. There just seemed to be something missing, something very solitary where there wasn't solitude before.

Marco shook his head. He was just imagining things. He hadn't been getting  _nearly_  enough sleep recently; he was probably just lightheaded from that. Marco resumed his former pace, nearing the end of the hallway and, consequently, his room.

Blind terror, black as night, opaque as tar completely flooded his mind. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't move. There was nothing, nothing but this complete, unending, indescribable  _fear_  and the knowledge that there was no getting away from it. He couldn't even think, the fear ran too strong in his mind for that. His instincts were telling him to run, to hide, to throw something between himself and this, anything to get him out of here alive because it wasn't a matter of  _escaping_ , it was a matter of  _surviving._  Marco's heart was pounding hard and fast against his ribs, beating on them like a caged bird in a desperate attempt to escape.

"-co! Marco!" Marco blinked, coming back to his senses. The fear still coursed through him, thicker and hotter than blood. He realized he was sitting on the floor, pressed against the wall. His papers were scattered everywhere. The coffee had spilled and spattered over some of the papers and floor. The mug had shattered, shards of it littering the nearby floor. Jozu was leaning over him, looking in his face, trying to get his attention. He was the one that had spoken. Marco's chest was jumping with his panicked breathing and when he looked into Jozu's eyes he could feel his eyes widened far beyond their usual lazy half-open stare.

Marco's legs, joints, his whole body was almost paralyzed with terror, but he forced himself to lurch off the floor. His vision was practically spinning, and every now and then would flicker to a different view, but only for an instant and never long enough for Marco to determine what it was he was seeing.

Marco stood unsteadily, leaning heavily on the wall for support. Jozu was staring at him anxiously and looked unsure of what was going on. Marco paid him no mind, turning down the hallway back the way he had come. He started running in that direction, almost falling over until he slammed harshly into the opposite wall. He shouted at the stunned Jozu, not pausing in his haphazard progress down the hallway.

"There's something wrong with Ace! I don't know what's going on but he needs our help  _now._ " Marco threw himself down the hallway, slamming into wall after wall. If he hadn't known this ship like the back of his hand he would never have been able to find the infirmary with how disoriented he was because of the overflow of emotions coming over the mental link with Ace. As it was, it took him  _far_ longer than he would have liked to get there. Jozu stayed hot on his heels the whole time, occasionally lifting Marco to his feet when he went sprawling to the floor.

Marco finally reached the infirmary door and slammed it open. The door went flying open into the wall behind it, and Marco heard a choked cry of fear come from a corner of the infirmary. Marco recognized the voice and instantly moved towards it, following it to the back corner of the infirmary near the cot used for critical condition patients. Marco drew near, but couldn't see Ace anywhere.

The infirmary was a complete wreck. Cots were overturned, their mattresses slashed, stuffing spilling out like gore. Cabinets had been slammed open, the doors hanging off their abused hinges, their contents littered all across the room. Splatters of medicine and other chemicals coated the walls and floor. Rolls of bandages and medical instruments were strewn everywhere, and some of the walls sported dents.

"Holy shit." Jozu's voice conveyed shock bordering on speechlessness. Marco glanced over his shoulder at Jozu who had just entered. He was looking about the room, eyes wide.

"Quiet." Marco hissed the word and gestured at Jozu to pipe down. Marco looked around again. "…Ace?" Marco's voice was gentle. He had been able to push back Ace's terror from his own mind after his subconscious recognized the fear as foreign and not his own. Listening carefully, Marco could hear harshly ragged and uneven breathing to the point of complete hysterics. It was coming from his lower left. Marco crouched down and scooted closer to the wall.

Ace was hiding, literally cowering in terror, pressed back into a tiny niche of space between the corner of two of the infirmary's walls and the cot. He was curled in a fetal position, but upright; fitted into the small space as if he had no intention of ever coming out. He was pressed back as far as he could go into the corner, clutching his own arms, hugging his knees to his chest. He rocked minutely back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut.

There were tears running down his face.

If anything testified to how absolutely  _petrified_  Ace was right now, it was this. Ace  _never_  cried.  _Especially_  in front of other people. Marco moved into a more comfortable sitting position on the floor, trying to look as non-intimidating as possible. He put both his hands where Ace could clearly see them if Ace looked at him, and crossed his legs. If Ace were thinking clearly at all, he would realize how hard it would be to quickly get into a standing position from here. Marco bent over so his head was about level with Ace's.

"Ace…?" Ace's head snapped up, his eyes opening. Widened, utterly horrified eyes met Marco's. Ace raised a terribly shaking hand to his mouth, lifting one finger over his lips as if telling Marco to be quiet. Ace stared into Marco's eyes and whispered, so faint Marco could barely make it out.

"Quiet, he'll hear you." Ace glanced briefly to his left, then looked back to Marco for another moment. Once this was done, he squeezed his eyes shut again and resumed his faint rocking.

Thatch came running into the room then, accompanied by Selma and Izou. Jozu, who had been standing helplessly to the side, turned to the three newcomers. He spoke quietly, trying not to interrupt whatever Marco was accomplishing in his conversation with Ace.

"Stay quiet. Marco's talking to Ace. Something happened and Ace is completely hysterical, practically having a meltdown. I don't know what's going on beyond that." They nodded and Thatch approached where Marco was sitting. Moving slowly, Thatch sat next to him. Marco scooted over subtly, making room for Thatch to sit where he could see Ace clearly. Thatch smiled quietly at Ace, trying to send something, anything soothing over the mental link in an attempt to calm Ace down. Ace's mind, though, was just a solid wall of pure panic and he couldn't get through. This was different. Ace hadn't just had a nightmare or anything like that; this was something much,  _much_ worse. Thatch glanced at Marco. Marco looked back at him and they shared a moment of being at a complete loss of what to do. Thatch hesitated for another moment, then addressed Ace.

"Hey there, Ace." The words were quiet and soothing, gently positive. Ace's head snapped up, his eyes focusing on Thatch's face.

"Quiet! He'll hear you and then he'll- he'll-" Ace shook his head violently then met Thatch's eyes again. "He'll find you! He'll get you!" Ace shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. Thatch and Marco exchanged a glance. Marco spoke next.

"Who, Ace? Who is it that's going to hear you? You're okay, nobody's looking for you. Nobody's coming after you." Ace curled tighter into himself. He pressed his palms over his ears and his whole body tensed.

"Quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet quiet! I don't want him to find you! I wouldn't be able to protect you and you wouldn't be able to protect yourselves!" Ace looked up and met Marco's eyes. Ace's hazel-grey eyes were wide, begging Marco to understand, to protect him, to save him, anything. Ace's voice went soft, a terrified whisper. "He plays by different rules, Marco." And that was what gave it away. This hadn't just been a nightmare, nightmares don't shred rooms and didn't leave Ace hiding in corners.

Something from Wonderland had come to visit. Something dead.

"Who was in here, Ace? Which of them came to see you?"

"He was just…he was just trying to protect me. He thought I was being attacked and he- he-…" Ace buried his face in his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry" Ace continued repeating it over and over, the words quiet, barely more than a whisper. Marco's eyes widened.

"Ace, who was in here with you? Which of the crewmembers were here? Where are they now?" Marco's voice was more forceful than before. If someone had been attacked by something from Wonderland, this was bad. This was really,  _really_ bad. Nobody on this ship could fight against anyone from Wonderland effectively, not even the commanders. Marco's voice was louder than Ace's had been, interrupting Ace's ongoing monologue. Ace allowed his words to trail off, but didn't look up.

"I didn't mean to…I didn't mean to…Hatter thought I was in danger and he…he…" Ace swallowed, turning his tearstained face to look at Marco again. His eyes were horrified, full of complete terror. "…he unsewed him." Marco's expression was dead serious now. He needed a straight answer.

"Where is he now, Ace? Where did Hatter put him?" Ace shuddered, shoving his face back out of sight again. "Ace I need you to tell me now. You said you're sorry, but if you really mean it I need you to tell me where he is. Hatter isn't going to find you, but this person may die. Ace  _talk_  to me."

"N-No need, Marco…I found him." Selma took a shaky step away from the door to her office.

Marco hadn't believed so much blood could come from one person.

Jericho was upright, blood still pumping sluggishly from his body. A long gash ran down his chest, starting at his collarbone and ending at the base of his ribcage. His skin had been peeled back from this central gash and muscle and bone was clearly visible beneath. Jericho had been pinned to the wall with every sharp object the infirmary contained, scalpels, tweezers, needles, everything and anything sharp. A bone saw was embedded in his left shoulder, the blade cutting through most of his collarbone and shoulder blade. His arms were pinned out away from his body, in a position of near crucifixion. His right arm was twisted horrendously and pinned in a beyond unnatural position, pulled far beyond the point of dislocation. His upper left arm was in a similar situation, the shoulder clearly dislocated, but everything below his elbow was just  _gone._

Blood pumped from the ragged injury, the bits of bone white flecks amidst the red mass of torn muscle and sinew where Jericho's elbow should have been. No kind of cutting instrument had been used to remove the arm, it had simply been torn off with brute force.

Jericho's face was a true horror.

His mouth had been sewed shut in the position of a painful, uneven crescent. Letters had been carved all over his face and ran down onto the remaining skin on his arms and chest.  _Smile Smile Smile Smile Smile Smile Smile Smile Smile_  over and over again. His eyelids had been sewed open, pulled away from each other as far as they would go.

His eyes were gone.

Well, not  _gone_  gone, but they weren't where they were supposed to be. Jericho's eye sockets were empty, pumping blood down his face. The blood looked almost like tears, flowing past the horrific smile in a mockery of everything humanity should be.

Jericho's eyes had been nailed above his head by their optic nerves.

They dangled down from the nail, small rivulets of blood running down the wall from them. Above them, in a gentle arch three words had been carved into the wood as if they were the title of the grisly scene like it was a piece of artwork.

SEE NO EVIL

Marco barely kept from gagging at the scene. The whole room reeked of blood and death, and Marco felt he could safely assume the others were having a similar reaction. All the same,  _he_  was the first division commander. It was  _his_  job to deal with the things the others couldn't. Marco took a deep breath and approached Jericho.

His progress was slow, his natural instinct being to turn his back on the room and run. As he drew nearer to Jericho the stench only grew worse and Marco realized it wasn't just blood. There was a rancid, acidic smell as well, and when Marco came up directly in front of Jericho he could see why.

When Hatter had gotten to Jericho he ruptured his stomach while it was still inside his abdominal cavity, spilling the acid all over his other internal organs, burning them. It would have been excruciating. Because of the way the skin had been peeled back, all of the acid had been held inside Jericho's body while it wreaked slow torment on his other organs. Hesitantly, Marco raised a hand to Jericho's neck, already guessing what the outcome would be.

Jericho had no pulse.

(Possible Tweedle-Dee scene)

"Oh. Y-You don't know?" He cocked his head to the side in a position of puzzlement. "…T-Then I have one more story to tell you." He inhaled shakily, audibly, as if in pain. "...O-Once upon a time there was a little world. It was so small it could fit between sanity and insanity. It was nice there. Harmless. Well…compared to reality it was.

"Reality hurt too much, attacked too much, and it burst that little world open, popped a hole in it. Alice- NO NOT HER. SHE'S HAPPY, THE FUCKING BITCH." Tweedle Dee's voice twisted into a snarl of rage, his shoulders and back contorting with anger. Just as suddenly as it had started, the rage quit him. "Someone special, a wanderer, fell into that little hole. All was well and pretty and fun, and he even won the Caucus Race, but that tiny hole was still open and early on, before even the Dodo, something slipped inside.

"It corrupted and broke and tarnished. Everything started falling apart and our wanderer got scared. So he took that little walnut-shell world and he put it in a box. A box inside a skull behind a face with hazel-grey eyes, just like mine, just like everyone's, you know. We sat in that box for ten years-"

"Wait, but isn't thi-"

"DON'T INTERRUPT ME." Tweedle Dee took a deep breath and seemed to settle. "We sat in that box, locked in a shell with a murderer. But not just that…a destroyer. A cannibal. He started nibbling, taking tiny bites, seeing how he could slowly pick away at us until we died.

(Hare encounters Ace on the Moby Dick before he revealed himself to the crew, but Ace mistakes him for a hallucination)

"Oh. It's you. Go away." Ace sighed tiredly. "Selma's going to be back in a few minutes, and if she finds me talking to myself again she's going to put me on meds that don't help. Again. And then Hatter'll pitch a fit. Again. And then he and Caterpillar will get in a fight.  _Again._  So please. Go away. I've already got enough of a headache." Ace rubbed his eyes wearily, not even watching the hallucination. If he had been, he would have seen it staring at him in surprise for a moment, before throwing back his head and laughing. Really laughing.

He collapsed in a chair, still chuckling lightly, grinning in fascinated pleasure, shaking his head wryly. "You see, Ace,  _this_  is why you were always my favorite." Another brief chuckle interrupted his speech. "I don't even have to  _touch_  you, you tear  _yourself_  apart. Are you really such a mess of low self esteem and daddy issues?" Ace was cradling his head in his hands at this point, still not bothering to look at the illusion.

"Hatter was looking for you a while ago. Said something about a chess game. Still angry you beat him. In every sense of the word. I think he's upstairs right now. Check the galley." The hallucination chuckled, shaking his head again, and stood.

"All right. I'll be back later, Ace. You and I can have a nice chat."

"If you keep me up again all night Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard are going to freak out. They already think I should be on meds, but as aforementioned, they don't help. They don't get rid of you, at least. So what's the point? Either way you just sit there all night insulting me and preventing me from getting any rest at all." Now Ace, too, gave a wry chuckle. "Mr. Savage was clever when he cooked you up. Or are you just another of his skins? I don't remember, I'm too tired. Four days is a long time to be awake." The hallucination crossed the room and exited, shutting the door behind him with another faint chuckle.

(Marco and Hare dialogue after Hare is revealed to the crew)

"How could you have hidden this long? Somebody must have found you!" Hare's eyebrows raised.

"Oh, someone did." He quirked his head slightly to the side. "…It's funny, I can't remember his name now. Rak…Raku…hmm." Hare slid mocking eyes over Whitebeard, taking in his stricken expression.

"Why didn't he call you in?" Whitebeard asked, feeling a terrible clenching in his chest. Hare smiled.

"Let's just say...he didn't have the  _guts."_

(After Serpent's death)

Ace stared at the ceiling. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He didn't whimper. He couldn't. Not anymore. Grief and sorrow and  _alone_  twisted in his heart like a  _plague_  and he needed to amputate, because there was no healing from this one. His pain was swallowing him. It was more, more than he could take, more than he could handle, more than he could shove down and gloss over and slap on an "it's alright" label. He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't repress it. But there was no outlet known to man that would let him  _release this._  It consumed his mind and his heart and his soul, ate him from the inside out. And he couldn't-

"Someone's going to die for this, Serpent," he said, the words rotting in the still air. Silence fell again. A slow grin festered onto his face and his eyes widened hugely. He raised his right hand leisurely, flexing the fingers in front of his face.

"Someone's going to  _die."_

(Ace hallucinates Hare)

Hare laughed and Ace felt a spear of terror impale his spine. Selma continued speaking, oblivious, but her voice had completely faded behind the white noise of Ace's fear. Hare grabbed his wrist, eyes burning into Ace's own.

"You were so confident. You thought you were so safe." He spoke with all the chill a human voice could contain, all the sadistic amusement and glacial detachment. He leaned down, toothy smirk cutting his face, eyes inches from Ace's own. "But pain is of the mind, Ace." He pressed his palm against Ace's shoulder, the place where he'd first been branded and Ace's whole world exploded into bright agony. His eyes widened and he clenched his jaw, fighting not to scream as all of that pain flooded back through his mind but  _more_  because it  _didn't stop._

Finally, Hare pulled back, only to hover his pointer finger just above Ace's arm, just above the beginning of the brand there. He grinned at Ace.

"Don't scream. Scream and it's real, right?"

(Concept that didn't end up happening)

Some character (either Estrella or Duchness): Talks about how he/she is pregnant with Hare's child. About how Hare  _must_  love him/her. It should be kinda weird. Really. And then later, when Ace is back on the Moby Dick and conscious again, Ace should touch his stomach in the same way the character did in Wonderland and nobody will get it at all. But still. It'll be cool.

("Ace?" Ace's gaze snapped around at the voice, looking away from the mirror he'd currently been regarding. He smiled a little vacantly at _, hands dropping from the absent place they'd taken on his lower stomach.

"Coming.")

(Whitebeard and the Mannequin)

Whitebeard stared at the figure. "…What?" he asked, after a brief pause. The figure lifted one hand languidly, pointing at the altered chessboard.

"Do you want to play a  _game?_ " it repeated. It sounded amused, nearly mocking. Whitebeard didn't approach and didn't answer the question.

"What did Caterpillar do with Marco and Thatch?" he asked, voice nearing a snarl. The figure, sighing, replaced its hand on the armrest.

"You'll have to ask him that."

"Then let me speak to him," Whitebeard said coldly. The figure seemed to straighten, resuming its former mirth.

"Oh but you have to  _win_  first. We can't let just  _anyone_  in to see the Wyrm," it said, voice clownishly happy. Whitebeard approached the table. As he did, the chessboard came more fully into view and, upon further inspection, Whitebeard wasn't sure it could even be called that.

It was massive. The table was probably a good sixteen square feet, and the chessboard covered the whole surface. The tiles that composed it, as usual, were white and black, but they weren't evenly dispersed as they were on a regular chessboard. They seemed to be randomly placed, with far more of them than there were of white tiles. On the mannequin's side of the board there were no pieces at all. On the side near the empty chair, near Whitebeard, there were two pieces. Two pawns.

"If you can get your pieces to the other side of the board, you win. I'll let you see the Wyrm and you can ask him your question."

"And if I lose?" Whitebeard asked. "What, you'll kill me?" The mannequin laughed, voice dropping to silky softness.

"As if death is the worst thing that could happen to you. No, you lose you'll be free to go. But…well. Your consequence is tied up in the game. So let's get to playing, shall we?" Whitebeard hesitated.

"…And if I leave now?" The mannequin cocked its head to the side. But in its voice Whitebeard could hear its unseen grin.

"Through what door?" Whitebeard stiffened and spun.

The door was gone.

Not locked, not closed. Gone.

"…You really thought it was just Marco and Thatch that we had snared…?" Whitebeard turned back slowly towards the mannequin. It hadn't moved, but as he watched it turned its head slowly to face him, the black hole in the front of its head empty and void. "…Tell me, Edward Newgate, when did you get so naïve?" The figure remained stationary, but the source of the voice seemed to draw closer to Whitebeard. "You'd better start taking this seriously. More than your life is on the line."

"In comparison to that of my children, my own safety is meaningless to me," Whitebeard said. The mannequin's head tilted slightly to the side.

"Then maybe you'll do better knowing their lives are at risk as well?" Whitebeard tensed, protective impulse surging.

"How  _dare_ you threaten-"

"I don't threaten. I state the truth. You're wasting time. Important. Time. You do realize that while you've been down here, three more inhabitants have separately been able to materialize on your ship? Your 'children' aren't properly equipped to handle us. Not at all. It's more than just you, Ace, Thatch, and Marco in the infirmary now,  _Pops_. If you're so desperate to protect them…I have to ask, what are you doing here?" The sneer was back in the figure's voice, and Whitebeard had visibly paled.

"Who?" he choked. "Who got out of Wonderland? Who did they hurt?" The mannequin shrugged, tiny giggle escaping it.

"Who gives a flying fuck anyway?" Whitebeard stood there, stunned.

"…You do," he said after a moment. "You…you have to." The mannequin tilted its head to a horrible 90 degree angle.

"Oh?" it asked. "Why?"

"They…They're your  _family._ " The mannequin's hands slammed down on the table.

"Oh no, they're  _ACE'S_  family! But I'm not related to that  _FUCKER!"_  The figure seemed to subside, arms relaxing, voice returning from its previous roar. But still, behind the smooth purr Whitebeard could hear the seething rage. "Destroyer. Murderer. Monster. Disgusting. Sinful. Horrible," it murmured under its breath. It continued on like this, listing more similar words. Whitebeard could hear in them complete honesty, and in the voice the passion of true disgust and detestation. ... _Does Ace really hate himself this much?_  As he regarded the mannequin sadly it suddenly threw its head back, laughing manically.

"Oh, and did I mention he's a fucking LIAR? 'CAUSE THAT ONE SHOULD BE IMPORTANT TO YOU AT THIS POINT."

(Selma while Ace, Whitebeard, and Thatch are still unconscious)

Selma was pretty damn close to being at the end of her rope.

She leaned back against the wall, trying to control her breathing, trying to find a shred of the inner stillness and strength she usually had more than enough of. Because she needed it. And so did her brothers and sisters around her. Selma took another shaky breath, fighting down  _pointless_  tears of stress or frustration.

The infirmary was quiet, its current inhabitants all asleep at this hour. Selma was glad for it. She didn't want anyone to see this little breakdown. She didn't need help. She was independent, self-sufficient, strong. She could handle this. She  _would_  handle this. Even if monsters kept hurting her brothers and sisters, even if it got worse by the  _day_. She would handle this. Because if people kept getting hurt, she'd keep being there to patch them back up. They needed her right now, dammit, and she wasn't about to fail them.

Some of her resolve restored, if not necessarily her strength or spirit, Selma pushed off the wall, walking softly on the wood floor of the infirmary. She checked each patient carefully, making sure no bandages had come loose or I.V.s run out of fluid. And then she came to the last four.

Oyaji.

Marco.

Thatch.

Ace.

She felt tears rising up again, tears of bitter frustration, of resentment. She took a shaky, choked breath.

"What are you all  _doing?"_  she asked quietly, voice low enough to not disturb the other patients. Her breath hitched.  _"What are you doing?"_  she hissed again, forcing back her tears, letting some of her anger escape in that question, that accusation. She whipped to Thatch.

"Where the hell were you when Vista got attacked?! He needed backup! He needed another sword at his back!" She turned to Marco. "And you,  _you_ , didn't you say, didn't you  _promise_  that you'd always be here to protect the crew,  _your family?_ " She turned to Whitebeard, her breathing hardly more than choked back sobs at this point.  _"We need you._  We, your  _children_ , need you now! Where are you? What are you  _doing?_  Why haven't you  _saved us?"_  she felt terrible, she felt wrong, she felt  _unjustified,_  yelling at them, letting them hear the strain and break in each of her words. This ugly part of her, this part that she wished didn't exist, the part that  _blamed._  Sure everyone had it. But she was supposed to be better than this. She turned to Ace.

"And you." She shook her head slowly. " _You_." Her voice became wretched. " _Why are you doing this to us?"_  A sob, and somehow she wanted to lash out, but she wouldn't, she couldn't, she'd  _never._   _"Why, Ace?!_ What did we do to deserve it?!" Tears were rising again and she hated herself for this moment of weakness. "You're our brother we're supposed to be  _family_  so why are you  _killing us?!"_  She wanted to shake him, to get an answer, to find justification for the three siblings they'd had to say goodbye to. Today they hadn't even been able to recover the body. He'd just been  _gone._  She fell to her knees, shaking. "…why?" She asked quietly, former passion evaporated. Now all she felt was hurt. Emptiness. Cold.  _Alone._

A knock sounded on the door.

Selma blinked, her eyes snapping up to the entryway. Nobody came in and silence fell again. But Selma knew she hadn't imagined it. Eventually, she forced herself to stand, to walk over, to wipe any signs of her inner struggle and her fatigue off her face. She reached for the cold handle. "Yes?" she asked softly, moving the door open.

There was no one there.

Selma's brows furrowed. What…? She looked both ways down the hallway, but saw no one. Only darkness. Unsurprising, at 3 AM.

Just as she was about to close the door, she heard another knock. This time from a door a little down the hall, off to her left.

Selma licked her lips. Everyone was asleep at this time of night…right? Except those on watch, and they'd be up on deck. It was only her down here. Her, and those currently dead to the world.

The knock sounded again, softly, unobtrusively, nearly polite.

 _Maybe…_  the timing was a little too perfect for it to be coincidence, right? She swallowed, feeling absurd hope rising in her chest.  _Maybe it's them._

Part of her found this entirely ridiculous. But a lot of her just wanted it. Just wanted it so  _badly_  that she didn't care anymore.

She ran across the hallway, down to the door that had been knocked on. She opened it, finding, once again, nothing on the other side. But soon enough, another door was knocking, and she was off, down several consecutive hallways, through a few connecting rooms, until finally the knock came from a door that she  _knew_  was a dead end, and this was it, she knew it she could  _tell._  She'd get to see them on the other side.

She threw the door wide, elated smile pulling at her face for the first time in what felt like forever in this hell, her heart tight with happiness.

She faltered, staring at the figure whose back was currently turned to her. He was facing the window, pale moonlight matching his blue jacket to the color of the night sky. Selma didn't recognize the outfit, but she'd know that tousled black hair from a mile away.

"Ace?" she asked breathlessly. "Is that…Is that really you?" The figure stiffened.

"Sorry," he said, voice so quiet it was barely distinct. "…I'm…sorry." His muscles seemed to nearly spasm, and she could see the way his back tensed, the way his shoulders hunched, like he was in pain, in  _agony._  "We…I…I don't want…" His muscles twitched again, and he clutched his arms to his chest. "He wanted to…He just wanted to say…he's sorry,  _we're_  sorry, we never meant for it to happen like this." The words were falling out faster and faster, like he couldn't stop them, like he was trying to control them but slowly losing his grip. His muscles tightened again, and he curled in on himself. Selma's eyes widened and she rushed forward to help, but as soon as it had started it was over and he straightened.

"Ha. Ha," he said, voice dead. "Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA." His voice rose in volume, slowly, and Selma took a step back. His head spun to face her for the first time, neck snapping, and she saw his face, all fishhooks and blood and stitches but it was still.  _Ace's_. Face.

"Oh my God what happened to you?! Ace!" And she wanted to scream but somehow couldn't. She tried to take another step back, but he moved in an instant, body turning to face the same way as his head while his feet carried him across the room and his arm stretched out. He grabbed the door, slamming it behind her and she couldn't run. His face was inches from hers, when he finally stopped, her back pressed against the door, his hand pressed flat against it, holding it shut. He grinned and it didn't touch his eyes.

"Ace what are you doing?! Let me go-"

"Tricked you," he whispered. "Now." He leaned forward, still grinning, and Selma, horrified, tried to press farther back, but the wood was unyielding, and this door opened in anyways- "Let me see you smile, hmmm?  _Everyone's_  happy these days! Now that we're  _infected!"_  He snarled the last sentence tightly, the grin falling off his face to be replaced with hideous anger. He contorted again, crying out in apparent pain, and staggered back, clutching his chest. He coughed once, twice, three times, and Selma could hear something lodged in his throat or lungs as it banged around. He coughed again, doubling over, clutching at his chest. Blood began to pour from his mouth with each consecutive cough and the doctor in Selma said that there was no way he could survive whatever was happening to him now.

"Ace! What's wrong?!" Finally, with one great heave, whatever it was finally flew out of his mouth, indistinct, covered in blood and mucus. He straightened, not bothering to wipe his face. He gestured to the blood-covered object, which now looked far too large to have actually fit in his chest or throat with all the surrealness of a dream.

"A gift, a gift. Mr. Savage wants to thank you for all your help," he half sang.

"…What is it?" Selma asked guardedly. He grinned at her, even more blood than before staining his teeth.

"IT'S A SURPRISE!" he shrieked. "I CAN'T TELL YOU OR ELSE IT WOULDN'T BE A SURPRISE ANYMORE!" He shrunk, suddenly, back to stillness. "Unwrap it and find out, neh?" Selma licked her lips nervously and hesitated. The figure – Ace? Not Ace? – stared at her. Silence reigned. "…You know…to refuse would be rude," he mused quietly, watching her. She hesitated only a moment longer, then took a step forward. She didn't want to upset him to the point of violence. He was already too volatile for comfort, and Selma didn't want to set him off.

The object was right beside him, so as she drew nearer to it, she also drew nearer to him. She watched him carefully, warily, as she approached, and never broke eye contact. He stood there, staring at her, motionless. He didn't move or smile, just watched. Wide-eyed. No expression colored his face or eyes. Finally Selma crouched – crouched, not knelt. She wanted to be able to get up and go if she had to – beside the object. It was covered in blood, mucus, and bits of torn flesh, but she wasn't disgusted. She couldn't even really say why. As a doctor, sure she saw what most people would consider "gross" on a regular basis, but this would have usually freaked even her out. But…it didn't. It was almost like she was watching this from far away, through a sheet of glass, or as if she was watching someone  _else_  reach out, someone  _else_  pick up that warm, stained object, someone  _else_  wipe away the gore until they could see what it was.

She watched someone  _else_ stare, dumbly, at that severed human hand.

"He thought you'd want what was left of the body," the person beside her piped suddenly. "Mr. Savage did." She turned to stare at him wordlessly, shocked. Stunned. Appalled. He grinned at her like a triumphant child. "Burying's important to you guys, and after how much you scared the shit out of Ace, Mr. Savage thought he'd repay the favor. He doesn't like to owe debts, you see." Selma felt pent up rage rising once more and she clutched the hand, all that was left of someone that had been  _her family._

"You're a  _monster!"_  she screamed. The figure stiffened, grin falling from his face. He'd gone dead again, eyes vacant, blank.

He lashed out at blinding speed, the wire impaled through his hand – Selma hadn't noticed it in the dark – whipping towards her, wrapping tightly about her neck, so tight she could barely breathe. He lifted the arm higher, slowly, and the wire obeyed like it was an extension of the limb, lifting Selma off her feet, constricting her breathing further. He approached her, the wire bending to accommodate his movement. He'd somehow gotten taller, his head even with hers, even though the top of her head must have been nine feet of the ground. Cold, hazel-grey eyes burned into hers.

"I know. But it's still rude of you to say so."

(An alternate piece for chapter 47, so Thatch waking up from Wonderland, Queen on the ship)

Thatch's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, gasping, hands flying to his stomach. No blood. No wound. No pain.

"Oh my God! Thatch!" His eyes snapped to the source of the voice. Selma. She rushed across the room, sitting on the cot beside him. She took a moment to just stare at him, shock apparent on her face. Her eyes searched his face, looking almost disbelieving. After a minute, they softened and she grabbed him, pulling him into a tight, desperate embrace. For a moment, Thatch was too stunned to respond. Selma wasn't a woman of open affection, even familial. "It's good to see you again," she choked. That spurred Thatch to finally wrap his arms around her in return. He held her tightly for a moment before releasing her. She leaned back as well, eyes searching his face.

"What happened? Why are you awake?" Her gaze shifted to three of the other cots in the infirmary, and Thatch followed her gaze, finding Whitebeard, Marco, and Ace each in a cot of their own. "Are they going to wake up too?" Thatch swallowed thickly, looking down at the sheets of his cot.

"…Not yet. I…I fucked up. I got killed in Wonderland. It's only because of Marco's quick thinking that I'm probably alive at all. They're still fighting Queen, in all likelihood." Thatch saw Selma's shoulders shake faintly and blinked with surprise. "…Selma?" She wouldn't look at him.

"…It's been hell, Thatch." She looked back at him, and he could see in her face how tired she was, how overstressed and run down. "We need Oyaji. We need him back  _now._  The commanders are doing their best to keep everyone together and calm, but people are scared, and more and more keep getting hurt." She twisted her hands in her lap. Her eyes looked haunted. "It's been getting so much worse. We thought the first ones to show up were bad? The new ones made those look like  _fairies._  Some are hostile, some ambivalent…but those are almost more awful. They follow you around like ghosts just  _staring_ … Jozu had one that followed him around for  _two days._  A mouse with no eyes and a tail made out of braided hair two feet long. It wailed like a banshee the whole time, "liar, liar, liar," just over and  _over_. There was a kid too, no more than waist high. He didn't talk to or look at anyone, just wandered the ship crying for his twin. Half his face was a skull. Serpent's been trying to explain things, but-"

A distant thud cut Selma off, both of their gazes snapping to the ceiling.

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**Fun Facts** :

Hare wasn't originally slated to get a backstory. I didn't have one planned, even when I started writing it. It was only when everyone (specifically BlobFishington) pointed out how 2-demensional he was that it started to go in the works, but I really couldn't figure anything out, so I just kind of let my fingers go until I got something I liked.

Kill the Rabbit is, as of the final chapter (and discounting author's notes), 276,047 words long, 497 pages in Word, and 1,538,706 characters, including spaces.

When it first blipped into my mind and completed itself, Kill the Rabbit was – at max – a 10 chapter story. I hadn't even THOUGHT of the Wonderland section, and the backstory was a fraction as in-depth as it is now. It also had a different ending. And Sabo wasn't going to be in it.

The only hiccups/plot holes are in Marco's dialogue and perspective, because my headcanon for his backstory hadn't fully formed as I was writing KtR. Don't go back and look for them, please. ^u^;

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**Psychological Examination of Each Inhabitant**

Brief examination of what each important inhabitant represented.

March Hare: Ace's innocence. What with his whole needing to grow up fast to look after Luffy, it wasn't all that strong a piece of his mind by the time Hare caught him. And after Sabo and Gabriel's death, and then the rape, it was gone. Ace convinced himself it was gone, and so it was.

Dormouse: Ace's trust. The part of him that lets him reach out freely and effortlessly to others. Mr. Savage was really the one that unlived him, originally. Ace's fear of Hare became projected into a fear of everyone he wasn't familiar with, and there's no place for trust in that. Dormouse, for a while, was teetering on the very edge of non-existence and it was only through careful manipulation of Ace so that he could see that the Whitebeard Pirates were trustworthy that the Inhabitants were able to get him to any semblance of alive again.

Tweedle Dee/Dum: Ace's morality, his conscience. One tells him if something is morally right, the other tells him if it's morally wrong. It's…about as simple as that.

Estrella: This part of Ace is…hard to describe. Hard to put into words, at least. The Estrella is kind of… it's the part of Ace that feminized and sexualized itself due to the rape. Part of Ace's mind needed to develop into some kind of appropriate response to that situation, and the Estrella is the part of Ace that chose to submit to it, to integrate it and change to suit it. Then throw in Stockholm's Syndrome. There you have it.

The Duchness: The Duchness is fairly easy to describe. She/he (intentionally ambiguous) represents Ace's sexuality. Essentially, after the rape, Ace became scared of any kind of sexual relationship or activity. Any sexual desire or impulse he had, he repressed. He was too afraid of experiencing the same torment he did before, and equally frightened of inflicting it on someone else. His/her gender is left ambiguous because I'm essentially letting you dictate which way you think Ace swings, only given the knowledge that it was heavily influenced by what Hare and the others did.

Caterpillar: Ace's creativity. Everything in him that goes into the creative process. The part of him that can draw, the part of him that can write, the part of him that experiences beauty, etc. Mr. Savage was able to change him by making Ace too afraid to really enjoy the world or dare to express himself, too scared of ridicule, punishment, or the threat of having it taken away. And also bending Ace's creativity into adding differences and bizarre horror to the flashback-nightmares he has.

Hatter: Ace's logic. Mathematics, science, etc. Mr. Savage actually  _wasn't_  the one who killed Hatter, it was Cheshire. Cheshire both accepted and rejected Hatter in order to perform Metamorphosis and Synthesis, and this duality leads to an equally complex state of being for Hatter. He's both alive and dead, and teeters at the very edge of nonexistence. Hatter is reasoning, fact, stored knowledge. Hatter is the part that observes the world and files it away exactly as it is, unlike Caterpillar, who'd more record the impression the thing made on him.

Queen: Literally every part of Ace that is sin. Pride, wrath, dishonesty, murder, etc. Mr. Savage would never be able to entirely do away with him, but he was able to corrupt him by use of the worms. They were a way of manipulating Queen instead of breaking him. Queen, since he knows of all of Ace's sins, also acts as a kind of judge. He's the center of all of Ace's self-hate. Ace hates himself both for the things he's done and for who he is, and it's the Queen part of him that makes him think this.

Cheshire: The original Ace. He's the one that lived the first 10 years of Ace's life in the real world. He was once kind, compassionate, loving, rational, sympathetic, and brave. When Hare took him, he remained those things for as long as he could, but eventually, just as Hare wanted and planned, he snapped under the pressure and suffering. All of the qualities about him that made him who he once was are gone, methodically stripped away by Hare. All that's left is violent, savage self-preservation, to the extreme where it becomes offensive rather than defensive. For the sake of protecting himself and his family, he will do anything. He's vindictive and unnecessarily cruel, believing extraneous brutality to eliminate problems more effectively than negotiation. In a way he's right – if someone who possibly means you harm is dead they can no longer do you harm – but his methodology in the killing is excessive to the extreme.

The Knave of Hearts: This is the Ace we know now, as he's been molded to be by all of the Inhabitants. When he was first created, he represented Ace's empathy, his ability to sympathize flawlessly with others. The Inhabitants used this to their advantage as he was able to internalize all of their traits and become some semblance of a functional human being. They still have to occasionally advise him on how to proceed – the fact remains that initially he was never created to be a complete individual – but by the time we meet him in chapter one he has essentially learned how to be human.

(If there's any you particularly want to hear about that I didn't cover, I'll be happy to add more!)

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**The 'Soundtrack' of Kill the Rabbit**

This is the playlist I accumulated of songs that remind me in one way or another of this story. If you want explanations of the particular intricacies of why each song is reminiscent of this, shoot me a PM or an email (the email address is at the end of the section about the ending)

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring

Hear You Scream by Hania Lee

Through the Glass by Stone Sour

Alice is Dead by Hania Lee

Mad World (from the Donnie Darko soundtrack)

Plastic Soul by This World Fair

Everything Burns by Ben Moody (feat. Anastacia)

Hello by Evanescence

Demons by Imagine Dragons

Black Widow by Dolores O'Riordan

Hero of War by Rise Against (this song reminds me of Gabriel)

Mama by My Chemical Romance

Matryoshka (English Version) by Ashe

Bad Apple (English Version) by Ashe

Narcissistic Cannibal by Earlyrise

Bring me to Life by Evanescence

Louder Than Words by Les Friction

Here Comes the Reign by Les Friction (this is the song that played in my head when Queen was on the Moby Dick)

World on Fire by Les Friction

Save Your Life by Les Friction

Mz. Hyde by Halestorm

White Rabbit by Egypt Central

Re-Education (Through Labor) by Rise Against

Animal I have Become by Three Days Grace

Musunde Hiraite Rasetsu to Mukuro by Hatsune Miku (this is kinda the Estrella)

Mr. Alice by Hatsune Miku

Lost Cause by Imagine Dragons

Monster by Imagine Dragons

Beekeeper by Keaton Henson

Speak of the Devil by Sum 41

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**Foreshadowing Guide:**

I'll come back and fill this in as I reread the story myself. It's only got chapter 1, but as I reread each chapter, I'll edit this doc and fill it in. Keep checking in on it, if you're curious. c:

Chapter 1: Pretty obvious hinting that Hare is an antagonist. Also, if you look at Ace's behaviors between the first chapter and a few later ones, you can actually see that he shifts to Cheshire slightly – he doesn't respond to Hare with fear, as would be the normal response, but rather with detached, vehement wrath. It's subtle, but the foreshadowing of this story is in the nuance as well as overt comments. (Yes I did have Cheshire planned since the very, very beginning)

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**A Sneak Preview of the One-Shot Sequel,** **Gas the Warren**

Ace's breath gurgled as it passed through him. He could taste the blood welling in his mouth. The only reason he was still upright at all was because Luffy was supporting him.

His chest was solid agony, and he knew he wouldn't last more than a few more moments. Already his mind was fading. He could feel tears on his face, but they weren't caused by the physical suffering he was currently in.

"Thank you…for loving me!"

 _Don't you_ DARE _don't you fucking_ DARE DO THIS, ACE! Marco's voice was desperate as it rang through his head. Ace smiled fondly.

 _Sorry, Marco. It's cruel of me to die so soon after Thatch._  He heard a chuckle, deep and primal, inside his head. He didn't feel the pain anymore. All around, the clamor of battle rang on. This place would soon be silent as a tomb, so the current unnecessary volume didn't bother him. His smile, which had been no more than a peaceful turn of his mouth, stretched until it was almost painful.

**You're not the one he's talking to.**

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**A Sneak Preview for my New Story,** **Sing**

Robin stared at the tablet in awe. It wasn't a poneglyph. It didn't even have any writing to speak of on it. It was a mural, with no words or descriptors, only images. Images that had even Robin staring in complete, silenced shock, in awe. Her breath felt caught in her throat, stilled by the sheer force of disbelief and wonder that made her heart pound so loud.

"L-Luffy…" she choked quietly, far too quiet to be heard from nearly all the way across the island, where the rest of the crew were attempting to camp, as ordered by their excitable, naïve captain.  _This mural is ancient._ Ancient.  _And it isn't fake, it's authentication is_ obvious _in the fading of the paint and the artistic nuance… So how- Why-?_ She snapped herself out of her reverie, spinning on her heel, and almost sprinting back to her nakama.

The forest whizzed by her, unnoticed, her mind focused only on getting her back as quickly as possible and the images that felt seared into her retinas. This was important. This was a breakthrough. This was  _incredible._  It was so gargantuan she couldn't believe it was the first she'd heard of it.  _She_ , of all people, who knew so much, had been completely in the dark. A facet of the world this gargantuan had been expertly concealed from her, every trace of it hidden or erased so  _perfectly_  that even  _she_  had been unable to detect its absence.

She burst from the trees to the clearing Luffy had selected as his camping spot of choice. She was panting from the running, and by the instantaneous attention and guard of her crew she knew they expected an attack. She  _never_  moved beyond a professional walk unless in the thick of combat, and her haste had alarmed them. She took only a moment to catch her breath before speaking.

"Luffy! Do you-" she broke off, gasping after the long run, "Do you have any way of contacting your brother? Of getting in touch with his crew?" Luffy looked confused, but he took Robin seriously. He could tell this was important to her.

"Ace? He gave me a weird piece of paper and said it would help us meet again, but I don't know how it works. If you can figure it out we can go meet him." He always took the desires of his nakama seriously, and he could tell this was something deeply vital to Robin at this moment and deserved his every attention and solemnity. "Why do we need to see him? Is something wrong?"

"No, it's- There's…someone on his crew, that I  _need_  to speak to," Robin replied, appreciative that Luffy was taking her so seriously. At the crew's curious looks, she elaborated. "The first division commander. Phoenix-san." When Luffy had asked her about the details on the Whitebeard pirates shortly after they left Alabasta, she had used the nickname and honorific flippantly, and only now did the sincerity of it truly hit her. God, how could she not have  _known?!_

Deep in the woods, on a tiny island of the Grand Line, there's a tablet. It's been standing there, undiscovered, for ages. As the log pose took only twenty minutes to set – the shortest of any island – no one had explored the depths of the forest for many, many years, and as such the ancient ruins remained intact and undisturbed, fading quietly back into nature.

This tablet is the only part of the ruins of any real significance.

It depicts, in flaking fresco no modern artist could create to last even a quarter as long, twelve individuals, painted in such a way that they are reverenced, highlighted in gold, with markings indicative of wisdom and knowledge surrounding them. They all, with no exception, wore deep purple, and had blond hair and blue eyes. All were depicted in mid-transformation, some nearly entirely human, others just beginning the shift.

Blue fire highlighted their wings, enveloped their faces, an array of gold, blue, and flecks of green and purple trailing down long tail feathers in a display to outshine any peacock or lyrebird.

It's not a devil fruit. There has never been more than one of any devil fruit simultaneously, and all twelve of these individuals bore enough resemblance in their pseudo-bird, pseudo-human forms that Robin was left with no doubt that they all shared the same abilities. But it wasn't a devil fruit. Robin's mind was left spinning.

Twelve. Eons ago, there had been twelve.

There were so many questions buzzing in her head, ones that one individual still living today could answer. He could answer it all. Solve every riddle that had plagued her mind since she'd first discovered the imperfect nature of human records.

What happened during the void century? Why are there no records of you? How long have you lived? Where did humanity come from? Did you witness the evolution of society, of mankind itself? What is your language, and will you teach me to speak it? Are you going by your real name, or is this some kind of pseudonym? Why doesn't the world know about you? Why do you not appear in more recent records? How did mankind manage to forget about your existence, insofar that you can conceal yourself as the byproduct of a devil fruit? Are you the one who's hidden every record of the void century? Are you the one that's hidden every record about yourself? But the most important, the one hanging in the forefront of her mind-

What happened to the rest of your species, Marco?

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There you have it. Questions, comments, concerns? missmountain97 at g mail dot com is the place to send these! I'll continue updating the foreshadowing guide, finally reply to all reviews, and get cracking on Gas the Warren and Sing! Keep your eyes open and feel free to ask me any questions about this or future stories. Thanks for sticking through Kill the Rabbit! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you'll enjoy future works. c: See you all next time! ~Mountain97


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